


The Beast of Perthshire

by TheWritingGiant



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Arranged Marriage, Banshee AU, F/M, Historical AU, Werewolf AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-02
Updated: 2020-02-12
Packaged: 2020-04-06 17:53:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 45,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19067671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWritingGiant/pseuds/TheWritingGiant
Summary: After an incident on the river leads to the town asking more and more questions about that odd Simmons girl, Jemma’s parents, fearing for their daughters safety, arranged a marriage to Leo Fitz, a deputy in a sleepy little village in Perthshire. But a deputy isn’t all her new husband is, and sometimes a sleepy little village can hid the darkest of secrets.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger Warning: there are going to descriptions (nothing super graphic but enough) of dead bodies in this story. Some of these will be children. I will make a note at the beginning of each chapter where one will appear.

Never, in his entire life had a September ever been this cold before, Elliot Randolph bitterly thought as he tightened his cloak around his shoulders. It was still a good week away from October, and he would swear on his mother's life that he saw snowflakes falling on his walk to the river, God rest her soul. He tossed his fishing line into the Sheaf and wondered if its waters would freeze over again that year like it had the last. Why couldn't the weather stay like it was in June all year round? June was nice; it wasn't too hot, wasn't too cold, and while it did rain some, the sun shone bright and warm. And that certainly beat this constant cold, drizzly, grey drear. He adjusted the hood of his cloak again and shook the pole a little to try and entice a fish when he heard the grass squish behind him. He looked back at the source of the sound, and the sight warmed his chilled bones instantly.

"Well, Miss Simmons," he greeted and stood, flashing the young woman his most charming smile. "How are you on this damp, chilly morning?"

Jemma Simmons was the daughter of Sheffield's most talented doctor, Nicholas Simmons, and she a beauty. From her long brown hair to her easy, infectious smile, and eyes that flickered between the richest of honey and the deepest amber every time he saw her; she was a sight to behold. And while others may have seen it as wrong to try act so flirtatious with a woman young enough to be his daughter, what was the harm really? She had already rejected most of the eligible men in town her own age, perhaps luck would have her desires run to an older man instead. However, it seemed he would have no such luck, as he watched Jemma walk past him without even sparing a glance in his direction. 

Elliot ruffled at the brush off, it was odd and very unlike the girl to not at least return his greeting, even with terse acknowledgement or a hard glare from those beautiful eyes. He watched her as she continued along the river bank, the fabric of her loose white dress billowing behind her. It was mesmerizing, the way her nightgown moved moulded to her body in her wake, he thought and turned back to his fishing pole then turned back sharply, why was she in her nightgown? And her feet, they were bare. Pulling his line in as fast as he could, he rushed after her. "Miss Simmons?" He asked as he drew level with her. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," Miss Simmons answered in a soft voice, one he'd never heard her use before, as she kept on walking. She didn't look at him, she just kept staring straight ahead, her eyes empty. It was unnerving.

"But where are you going in dressed in such a state?" he asked, tugging his own cloak tighter around his shoulders. "You must be freezing."

"We're nearly there," her voice was just as distant as it had been the first time.

"What's going on here?" Elliot looked up and saw old Mr Vaughn glaring at him from a few metres up river. "Randolph, what you done too ‘er?"

"I haven't done anything," he raised his hands in defence. "I was just doing a spot of fishing when I Miss Simmons walked by. When I saw her in such a state of undress, I took it upon myself to accompany her and make sure no harm came to her."

"Took it upon yourself to take a good long look, you mean," Vaughn glowered at him and threw his own cloak over the young woman's shoulders. It didn't stop or slow Jemma down in the slightest as she continued her steady pace up the river. Vaughn placed a gentle hand on her back as he limped along with her. "Where you off to this time, Love?"

"What do you mean, 'this time?'" Elliot hissed as he fell into step just behind the pair, he liked his old view a lot better.

"Don't be a fool," Vaughn tossed back at him. "This isn't the first time the Simmons girl has done something like this. You remember the incident on the moors, don't you?"

The men kept up their quiet arguing as they followed Jemma downriver. It was another quarter miles before she finally stopped and looked out over the water. Elliot approached and waved a hand in front of her face, but she didn't even blink. He followed her gaze out over the water, but the only thing he saw was some driftwood. That couldn't be it, what could be so important about this spot to drag the young woman out of bed like this?

"What's that?" Vaughn asked as he squinted out at the water.

"It's driftwood," Elliot shrugged. "Why would she want to show us driftwood?"

"That's not driftwood," Vaughn said as he limped quickly towards the water. "It's bodies." 

Elliot followed the old man out into the frigid water and grabbed the first body he came across. It was a child, so was the second. They dragged them back to the shore and were finally able to take a good look. "It's the Prescott boys," Elliot declared. He placed his head on the older ones, Joseph's, chest and listened. But there was nothing to listen to, no breath, no heartbeat, nothing. He was gone, and so was his brother.

"Go to the village," Vaughn ordered. "Get her father. Now!"

As Elliot ran off to get help, Vaughn looked back to the Simmons girl, where she sat silently on the bank of the river, her eyes blank, like she was completely unaware of the tragedy she'd led them to. He shook his head in dismay, what was wrong with that girl?

*

"The townspeople are starting to ask questions," Jemma heard her mother hiss at her father, from behind the door of his study. She knew she shouldn't be listening in on her parents' conversation, it wasn't proper, and her mother would no doubt throw a fit if she caught her. But a lecture on etiquette was the least of Jemma's worries at the moment. "We need to do something, Nicholas, soon. Now. We're running out of time."

"What can we do Katherine?" Jemma didn't need to see her father to know that he was stooped over, one hand on the back of his chair, the other pinching the bridge of his nose. "Should we have her drug herself as your mother did? Force laudanum down her throat? It's too dangerous. Besides, it didn't work for Marie, Jemma will be no different."

"But they're getting suspicious," her mother interjected. "How long until they claim Jemma's a witch and drown her in the river?"

"We tell them the truth," Nicholas suggested. "She isn't a witch."

Jemma shook her head, the truth wouldn't do her any better, be it witch or banshee, there was little difference. Jemma wasn't normal, that was key. That's what the people of Sheffield would know, and that's what they would fear above all else.

"Semantics are not going to sway them to our side," her mother sighed as if she could read her daughter's mind. "She's in danger here."

"So what can we do?"

Jemma stepped away from the door, unable to listen to the rest of their conversation. Her father was right, what could they do? What could she do? Even without her powers, she was something of an oddity in the town, or anywhere in England really. With her refusal to hide her intelligence, and her active participation in the field of medicine alongside her father. Then there was her disinterest in balls, dresses, and in being seen as a meek, demure little rose. It was much unlike the other women her age. None of these things exactly helped her blend in, in the town. Her wanderings just made her even more noticeable.

It had all started a few years before, shortly after her grandmother died. She'd been found wandering the moors in a daze, in nothing but her smallclothes, after going missing from a ball three days before. With no memory of where she'd been or what she'd been doing those three days, it caused quite the stir. Had she finally found a man that held her interest? Had he tricked her into giving up her virtue, only to toss her aside when he was finished with her? And fearing the shame, she decided to pretend she couldn't remember anything? Or perhaps she had been taken somewhere by force, and the horrors that happened had been too traumatic for her young mind to take? Others still thought perhaps the Little People were involved, that they had spirited her away for a time then brought her home, taking away her memories so she could tell no one about the wonders of the Land of the Fae. Even now years later, Jemma had no idea what she had found out there on the misty hills. She wasn't sure she wanted to.

Then there had been the incident with old man Bradford, the Miller. For days she'd been hearing a sound following her around, at first she thought it was a cat purring under her bed, but the Simmons family didn't have a cat. Whatever it was, it was gentle, quiet, and in the background; something easily ignored, so she did. Until, at least, the sound grew louder and clearer. It wasn't purring after all, but a grinding noise, along with some kind of metallic clanking every few seconds; it was maddening. After days and days of the sound growing louder and louder, Jemma went for a walk in the gardens to try and clear her mind. She'd gotten lost in it until she found herself at the mill, standing in front of the hopper, Mr Bradford's legs sticking out of the basin. She couldn't keep back the scream that ripped from her throat that day.

It was a horrific scene. One of Bradford's co-workers explained that the old man had likely been trying to clear a blockage when he slipped. And after that, well, the grinding stones did their work. But how it happened wasn't the question that was being asked, it was well known that mills were dangerous places to work for just such reason. No, what everyone wanted to know was why Jemma had been there in the first place, but she hadn't been able to come up with an answer. She knew well enough not to tell them that she'd heard the sound of the millstones in her head for nearly a week before the event, but she didn't know how to explain how she had gotten from her family's property to the mill, all the way across town, when she only meant to go for a walk in the gardens.

It was after that when her parents sat her down and told her the truth. She was a banshee. A harbinger of death, that heard the dying screams or final moments of those around her. Just like Grandmama before her. They had hoped it would skip Jemma like it had her mother, but it was clear now that it hadn't. Neither her mother, or her father knew quite how it all worked, but her grandmother had research and lots of it. They showed her a part of their library she hadn't known existed, a small room behind a shelf that moved. It was filled with journals and papers all about the supernatural world. It took her days, weeks, to accept that it was all real. Werewolves, and banshee's, and witchcraft, and more, all of it was true. It was terrifying, but it was also fascinating.

While the collection contained information about all sorts of supernatural beings and objects, the focus of her grandmother's research had been on stopping the voices she heard, suppressing her powers. Not that Jemma blamed her for it; it was awful to know when and how people were going to die, to be doing one thing one moment, then find yourself miles away and stumble upon a body, completely unaware that it was even happening. It had driven her grandmother to the brink of insanity. She took to drugging herself with a tincture of opium to stop it but didn't work. Ultimately an overdose of the substance caused her death. Learning from her grandmother, Jemma tried the opposite; she opened herself up to the voices. After all, death was a natural thing. It had its tragedies of course, like with Bradford and the Prescott boys, but it was still a part of life. That belief seemed to help her deal with what she heard. And she found that in accepting them she was able to achieve the one thing her grandmother didn't think was possible, preventing a death. Simply by letting the voices do what they wanted to do, guide her. It gave her some control back, but it wasn't perfect.

No matter how much control she seemed to gain, there were still times where her powers took over completely. There were plenty of nights when she would scream so loud it woke the entire house, but those were easily explained away to their poor sleep deprived staff as night terrors, just like her grandmother. The real issue was her wanderings. When she was awake, she could almost always recognise the feeling of a premonition as it washed over her and was able to remain aware of her actions so long as she allowed herself to be guided. But when she was asleep, there was nothing to do. She had already tried strapping herself to her bed with restraints her father had for his more unruly patients, but they hadn't worked. She slipped out of them and found the body of a footman. The poor man had broken his neck, likely from a tumble down the stairs in the dark.

And Jemma wouldn't lie to herself, she'd thought about turning to medicines as Grandmama had, but ultimately she knew it was a bad idea. It was too dangerous, besides it hadn't helped Grandmama anyway. Her screams still woke her and the entire house, the voices still hounded her and the deaths she saw still haunted her. So what were they to do? While witch-hunts remained a rarity in their part of England, they were a growing concern; new accusations were announced almost every week it seemed. Her mother, scared as she may be, was right, they didn't have long before all the whisperings about Jemma turned into paranoia. And then where would she find herself?


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Un-Beta'd all mistakes are my own.

The day of Joseph and Samuel Prescott's funeral came and went quickly, but Jemma had not attended. Learning from her appearance at Old Man Bradford's service, Katherine and Nicholas felt as though Jemma's presence would cause too much of a stir on an already stressful day for the poor boys' parents. She understood entirely, of course, but still, she wished she could have gone and said goodbye. They were good young lads, always coming to the estate looking for odd jobs, she often had them help her pick plants for her remedies. As she got dressed that morning, she made plans to take a walk to the cemetery to pay her respects. Grabbing the journal she had been reading the night before Jemma headed downstairs to the dining room to take in her morning meal. Mornings were usually a quiet affair in the Simmons household, her mother preferring to eat her breakfast in her room, while her father always grabbed something he could eat on the go, so he could make his way to whatever patient needed him that morning. So it was a shock to find them both sitting at the table, tucking into their food.

"Good morning," she greeted, raising an eyebrow at them.

"Ah, Jemma," her father wiped his mouth. "Just in time, take a seat."

She did, hesitantly. "Is there a problem?"

"You know there is," her mother said. "But your father and I have found a solution."

"You have?" Jemma sat up straighter. "What is it? A paralytic of some kind perhaps?"

"Nothing so severe," Nicholas cleared his throat. "We sent a letter to Scotland, to a pack that your grandmother made mention of several times."

"A pack?" Surely they didn't mean what she thought they did.

"Of werewolves," Katherine confirmed.

"Why would you reach out to werewolves?" Jemma questioned. "It's not like their bite can cure me, or turn me. I'm immune, according to Grandmama's research at least. And I must say it's a theory that I'm willing to accept without testing."

"That's not what we're saying," her mother grabbed her hand. "But my darling, we are out of time."

"What do you mean?"

"There were rumblings at the funeral the other day," Nicholas answered. "The people are more suspicious than we thought. Elliot Randolph even told us that the Prescott's are considering getting the magistrates involved. So we wrote to the pack and offered your hand in marriage, your dowry, in return for their protection. They accepted. You're to marry the Alpha, Leopold Fitz, in a few weeks time."

"You did what?" Jemma asked, shocked. Her parents had always promised her that they would never force her into an arranged marriage. They, themselves had been lucky enough to marry for love and wanted the same thing for her, at least that's what they'd always said.

"Darling, please," Katherine squeezed her hand, but Jemma ripped it away.

"You offered me up to a complete stranger," she crossed her arms over her chest and bit down on her lip. "A stranger with the powers of a werewolf, of an Alpha? What do we even know about this Mr Fitz? Was he bitten? Born? Does he have control? How exactly can you be so sure that he protect me?"

"His father corresponded with your grandmother for years," Nicholas answered. "They traded information about the supernatural, built a knowledge base together. His son, Leopold, was bitten several years ago. He became an Alpha a few years back, and it seems that he's assembled quite the pack since then."

"Wonderful," Jemma's tone was dripping with sarcasm. "So my intended is an Alpha with a penchant for biting people. I'm immune, but that doesn't mean it won't hurt if he decides he needs something to practice on. Do I even get a say in this?"

"No!" Her father's hand slapped the table. "This is our best option! Our only option! If anyone can keep you from the short drop or being burned at the stake, it's a pack of werewolves that have gone undetected in Scotland for years. They've faced more witch hunts, they know how to keep hidden, and they have more resources than we do. So no, Jemma, you have no choice, you're doing this. It's your best chance at a long life, a free life."

"'A free life?'" she scoffed. "As the wife of some Alpha stranger?"

"Better the wife of a stranger with time to get to know him, than dead in a river, before your next birthday," her father countered and left the room without another word.

*

The weeks passed far too quickly for Jemma's liking, and as the day of her wedding drew nearer and nearer, her dread only grew. Her dress had come in, it was a deep red number with a fur trim to help stave off the crisp autumn chill. The banns were read, her things packed, and in the blink of an eye, her wedding day was upon her. They were only waiting for her intended and his party to arrive for the ceremony to begin.

She paced her bedroom, trying hard not to get her feet tangled in the hem of her dress. There was no escaping this; she'd tried everything she could think of. Negotiating with her parents had gotten her nowhere. No matter how much she begged and pleaded, they remained firm in their belief that this was what was best for her. She had planned to run away one night, had a bag packed and everything, but her father had anticipated that and posted a maid outside her door at all times ever since. That was probably for the best, she grudgingly admitted to herself later, it's not like she had a place to go, not really. She had thought for a while about trying to set herself up as a governess, but she had no references. Besides, even if she found a family willing to take the chance, her screaming would likely make for a quick dismissal.

"Miss Simmons," Callie, her ladies maid, called through the door. "It's time."

She let out a slow breath and stepped out of her room for the last time. Her mother was waiting in the hall for her. "You look beautiful, Darling," Katherine smiled and looked Jemma over. "Are you nervous at all?"

"I'm marrying a man I've never met, Mother, of course, I'm nervous," Jemma muttered. 

"Brides are always nervous," Katherine mused. "You should have seen me the morning I married your father, I shook the jam off toast. It will all be over before you know it. Now, do you have any questions at all?"

"About what?" Jemma rolled her eyes at her mother, the only question she had was the same one she'd been asking for weeks, and she doubted the answer was going to be any different now that they were in the home stretch.

"About your wedding night, and what's expected of you," her mother whispered. "I really wish we had the chance to talk about it sooner, but I was just so busy with the preparations, and I wanted to give you your space to come to terms with everything. Now you need to know it may be uncomfortable, it may hurt. But when your husband –"

"Mother, please," Jemma cut her off with a raised hand, blush creeping up her neck. "I know the…mechanics. And the intent. Father is a physician, I've had access to plenty of medical journals in this house. We do not need to have this discussion."

'Besides,' she thought as she started down the stairs. 'He'll probably take me like a wolf anyway.' 

When they got to the landing, Jemma saw two figures talking to her father in the front foyer, a man and a woman. Her intended and his witness, perhaps, it was a rather unusual choice. Maybe the woman was her husband-to-be's mistress, that could bode well for her, in the long run at least. The woman whoever she was, was stunning, there was no other word for it. Tall with a slim build, long blonde hair that cascaded down her back in loose, glossy curls and piercing grey-blue eyes that were glaring down at the man beside her. Jemma knew that she would look positively plain in comparison. 

Next, she looked at the man she was to spend her life with; he was younger than she thought he would be, looking to be around her own age. He was good looking enough she supposed, this Leopold Fitz, but there was something about him that kept him from being genuinely handsome. It could be the way he wore his hair, the brown locks cut very short and close to his head. Or maybe it was his eyes and his nose, it like they were too big for his face, or perhaps more his face was too narrow for such strong features. Of course, it could also be that she was looking for anything to dislike about the man.

Taking a deep breath, Jemma did her best to school her features, whatever the situation there was no reason she couldn't try to be civil. He was taking a chance on her after all, offering a life of safety and security, and easing her parents' worry. Maybe her father had been right, this was the best possible option. She descended the stairs and stopped in front of the pair, offering them a small curtsy, then held her hand out to her fiancé. "I'm Jemma Anne Simmons, it's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr Fitz."

The man's eyes went wide with panic as her father cleared his throat behind her. "There's been a change of plans I'm afraid, Jemma."

"What do you mean?" she looked up at him, had Leo changed his mind? Had he figured that she'd be too much trouble and decided to leave her to her own devices? 

The woman stepped forward. "I'm Barbara Morse," she introduced, smiling kindly at Jemma. "Call me, Bobbi. I'm afraid that Fitz has detained in Scotland. Another werewolf has been causing some trouble in the village, and it was felt by the pack that it would be best if he stayed behind to help put down the threat. But he sent us here to continue with the wedding as planned, this is Lance Hunter," she gestured to the man. "His proxy."

Jemma tried to swallow her shock. This man wasn't her husband, he hadn't come, but he still wanted to be wed. She wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a not.

"I really must protest," Katherine wrapped her arms around her daughter. "This really isn't proper. We were told she would be marrying your Alpha, not a random member of the pack."

"She is marrying our Alpha," Lance insisted.

"A marriage via proxy, it's not uncommon," Bobbi supplied. "It's good enough for royalty, isn't it?" 

Her mother had no counter for that, Bobbi was more than right, after all, several members of the monarchy both in England and aboard had taken part in proxy marriages in the past, and would no doubt do it again in the future. For Jemma, the change made little difference, it was just a small delay, two weeks give or take until she would meet her husband. The only downside is that it meant plenty of time to let her deepest concerns grow into fears and for those fears to run wild, with little means of soothing them.

Her father directed them to the solarium where the Vicar was waiting. The man was slightly perturbed by the last minute changed, but Jemma wasn't sure why it didn't really alter his position very much. For Jemma, however, it changed everything. She was hard-pressed to remember much of what was said during the ceremony, but it didn't matter. What mattered was that with a few simple words, a ring and a kiss on the cheek, she was married to a man hundreds of miles away. A man she had never met, a man that she was from that moment on meant to call husband.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading.


	3. Chapter Three

The Simmons and their guests ate a quick luncheon after the ceremony as Jemma's things were loaded into a waiting carriage. She had a few things set aside to take with her, but nothing more than she could fit into the saddlebags on her horse, and in a rucksack, she'd carry over her shoulder. The trio would ride ahead on horseback, it would be faster than taking the carriage, not that Jemma was particularly eager to rush. Though her new companions seemed more than ready to be home as soon as possible.

"The carriage probably won't get there until another couple of weeks after our arrival," Bobbi informed her as she helped Jemma pack a parcel of clothes in one of the pouches on her chestnut gelding's saddle. "But there is a very nice dressmaker in the village where you can purchase a few things, while we wait for the rest to get there."

Lance, or rather Hunter, as he liked to be called, groaned as he lifted her rucksack from the ground. "What's in this thing, rocks?"

"Mostly books," Jemma replied and took it from him, securing it over her shoulders.

"Books," he frowned. "You know we have plenty of books in Scotland, right? There's a whole bloody room full of 'em at the manor."

"Ignore him," Bobbi advised as Jemma opened her mouth to argue. "He's illiterate, Fitz and I have tried to teach him, but I think we'd have better luck capturing a unicorn and teaching it to read." 

"Hey!"

Jemma laughed at Hunter's indignation, at least her husband could read, that was good to know. 

"Are you two ready yet?" Hunter huffed and mounted his horse.

Jemma looked back at her home and felt a pang of loss in her chest, she'd barely ever been outside of Sheffield before, let alone England. And her parents, while her father was sometimes away for a night or two, seeing a patient in an outlying village, but she'd never once, to her knowledge at least, been away from her mother for any more than an afternoon.

"We'll send word when we get back to the manor," Bobbi said and placed a comforting hand on Jemma's arm before she swung herself up onto her own horse. "And it will be quick, those birds really know what they're doing."

Jemma smiled despite her sadness, it had been a rather thoughtful gift; a sparrowhawk that could carry messages between her parents' place and her new home. Hunter had said that it could even make the journey too and from in less than a day.

"And we do have an extensive library at the manor," Bobbi continued. "But that doesn't mean that we have the same books. Fitz will be happy to have a wife that likes reading enough to bring her own."

"They're not just novels," Jemma explained, as she settled into her saddle. "Some of them are medical texts, along with a guide or two about plants and their medicinal properties. But mostly it's journals my grandmother wrote or collected over the years. The ones I've found particularly informative at least." 

"That's wonderful," Bobbi smiled and started her horse. "We're always looking to expand our knowledge from reliable sources."

"What do you mean?"

"When you have King James and others like him releasing their treatises about the supernatural left and right to justify their witch-hunts, information of any real value gets lost in the shuffle," she explained and started her horse forward. 

It didn't take long for Jemma's childhood home to become a speck in the distance as they cantered along the main road. They had just gotten outside of Sheffield when Hunter started yammering away about food. "Oh, you won't be disappointed Jemma," he mused. "Mack makes the best salmon in all of Scotland. I swear fish jump out of the river with butter already melting in their mouths for the chance to be part of his meals. Or what about those little balls? You know the ones I mean Bob, what were they lamb? Beef? You think he'll make those? They seem a little more suited to a party, right?"

"What is he going on about?" Jemma looked over to Bobbi.

"Alphonso MacKenzie, Mack, He's another member of the pack," Bobbi began. "He trained to cook in France before he came to Scotland. He was planning the menu for the party before we left." 

"What party?"

"The one to celebrate your arrival of course," the blonde smiled at her. Jemma couldn't stop the look of shock that crossed her face, and Bobbi didn't miss it at all. "Are you all right?"

"Yes," she shook her head. "I suppose I'm just a little…"

"Overwhelmed?" Bobbi guessed.

"Yes."

"I get it," the other woman said. "You're married, but you've never even met your husband, and now you're moving hundreds of miles away to live in the home of a perfect stranger and his closest friends." 

"Exactly," Jemma sighed and brushed a piece of hair out of her face. "I only know two things about him really, his name and that he's a werewolf."

"And that he lives in Scotland," Hunter piped up. "That's a third thing."

Jemma forced herself to smile at him, it seemed as though he was trying to be helpful. "I'm afraid it's all still rather daunting. I like knowing things, and I feel as though I know nothing at all."

"So ask away," Bobbi shrugged.

"What?"

"I've known Fitz for years, so has Hunter. He's my Alpha of course, but more importantly he's my friend," Bobbi reassured. "I'll tell you whatever you want to know. Anything I feel that's my purview at least."

Jemma opened mouth to speak, but her brain seemed to stutter to a stop, jammed with all the questions she wanted to ask. "It seems I don't even know where to begin."

"Well, let's see," Bobbi said. "He prefers to go by Fitz. It was his mother's maiden name, and I think he feels like using it is a way to keep her alive. Same with his father."

"I think he just hates being called Leo," Hunter shook his head. "Lance, Leo, Leopold, Leroy, Louis, why do all the names that start with 'L' sound so awful."

"That's a point too," she agreed. "We know from your parents' letter that you and Fitz were born the same year, only he was born in August, not September."

"And he reads," Jemma asked.

"Too much," Hunter supplied. 

"He loves to learn," Bobbi glared at her compatriot. "He'll be more than pleased to find that his wife loves to as well."

Jemma smiled at that it would be nice to discuss books with someone other than her parents. Her interest in reading was something that made her odd in the eyes of other men she knew. It pleased her that this instead seemed to be something that was valued by her husband.

"He's clever," Bobbi continued. "Though you can probably give him a run for his money, given everything your parents wrote about you."

"What did they say exactly?"

"They told us about your powers, and your…troubles," she explained. "And that you need protection, but that you also place to be free. Free to learn, free to explore. Whether that's your powers, or your love of medicine, or whatever else your mind might catch on to. They explained that you've been helping your father for years and that you had your own interests outside of simply treating patients, something about a tonic of some sort you were working on?"

"Laudanum," Jemma swallowed hard. "It's an extract of sorts made from opium. My grandmother used it to try and silence the voices, but it's highly addictive and quite dangerous in the dosage she became dependant on. It's that dependency that seems to develop in this who take it that I've been eager to find a way to negate if possible. I've had little success so far though, I'm afraid."

"So does all that mean you're a healer?" Hunter asked

"I suppose," she shrugged. 

"So you'll be useful then," the man smirked. "Here we were worried you were just going to be some hapless housewife."

"Ignore him," Bobbi assured. "Like I said, your parents mentioned your medical skills. There is no doctor in the village, and they sparsely come around, and while we were hopeful that you would see fit to put your skills to use in your new home, it's of no obligation. If you want to spend your time pursuing this project of yours, you're more than welcome to."

"No, of course, I'll help," she said. "If I can be of use."

They continued on in kind as the horses trekked North, and by nightfall, Jemma knew that her new husband loved to build things, out of wood or metal, it didn't matter. She learned that Fitz had a sweet tooth, and heard a story about how he ate an entire tray of raspberry tarts to himself at a Hogmanay party, to a disastrous result, so much so that he can't stand the berry anymore. She learned that her father-in-law won his appointment as a constable of sorts during the life of the 6th Earl of Menteith, owing to his success as a thief-taker. The Earl had seen it fit to pay him a salary and put him up in a grand house to take care of all crimes that happened on his lands, instead of paying higher bounties on an individual basis. It was much more efficient. And now the entire pack worked under him as deputies.

She found out that the pack was not simply werewolves, in addition to her husband, Bobbi, Hunter and Mack there was Ethan Davis, a Kanima. She'd read about those in her grandmother's journal, they were a kind of reptilian shapeshifter that held a paralytic toxin in their claws. There was also Prudence Piper, a chimaera, two supernatural beings rolled into one, she has the speed and healing of a werewolf as well as the ability to turn herself invisible. She was relatively new to the pack, and they were still figuring out how exactly her powers worked. Then, of course, there was Fitz's father who was a human. And now her, it was quite the eclectic little group they'd amassed. 

The trio rode hard for over a fortnight, and while it was beautiful countryside no doubt, especially once they entered Scotland, Jemma longed for a real bed. Spending the night under the stars was something she loved as a child; she often fell asleep as she listened to her father tell her all about the different constellations as they stretched out on a big blanket in the garden. However, she'd always wake up in her own bed the next morning, her father having carried her there himself when he was sure she wouldn't wake. The reality of sleeping the whole night under the dots of light that fascinated her as a young girl didn't quite live up to expectations in her head. Most of all, she was dying to get off the horse for more than the few hours at a time they allowed themselves and the animals to rest.

"You should be able to see the village in a moment," Hunter called from up ahead of her. "It's just over that hill."

Jemma smiled at the man, he'd been positively gleeful all morning, which was a nice contrast to the moody gloom he'd cast the night before. He'd been slightly put out when Bobbi said they needed stop and make camp, when, according to him, they'd been so close to home. Just as promised when she crested the top of the hill a small village was laid out before her, it looked quiet and quaint, all wattle and daub with thatched roofs, while the forests around it were still dotted with the golden leaves of fall. It was positively picturesque.

"There's your new home, Jemma," Bobbi pointed out.

It was a large property, even bigger than her family home, that sat just west of the village. It had a stone wall surrounding it and bordered onto a forest at the back. There were various outbuildings dotted over the grounds and a series of hedges that perhaps made up a garden. Right at the centre was a large stone manor.

They rode down towards it, Hunter taking it at a gallop, but Bobbi remained back with Jemma at a slower pace. "Are you ready?" she asked as they rode up the lane.

"As I'll ever be," Jemma offered her a tight smile, nerves had retaken hold of her body, but she had some solace now. Even if her worst fears about her husband were true, at least she had someone like Bobbi here. As they drew nearer to her new home, a lone figure came out. It was a woman, with short black hair, shorter than any she'd ever seen on a woman before, that bounced wildly as she raced towards them.

"Piper," Bobbi jumped off her horse before the animal could stop. "What's wrong?"

"It's Fitz," Piper rushed. "He's been hurt."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hunter's view on names that start with 'L' are purely his own, I mean no offence.
> 
> Historical Note:
> 
> King James VI did write a book about witches called _Daemonologie_ , it was meant to counteract things like the _Malleus Maleficarum_ (Hammer of the Witches) that caused witch hysteria in mainland Europe, but really James' book had the complete opposite effect. James believed in witches and the supernatural, very deeply to the point of actually getting personally involved in investigations of witchcraft in Scotland and England, and his book was a way of trying to convert sceptics to his way of thinking. But it wasn't just a book saying 'hey witches exist, they're evil and work for the devil,' it was also meant to be a manual of sorts in the prosecution of witches and the supernatural. He actually intended the book to help to do away with the idea that an accusation, or even multiple, was enough to condemn a person (usually a woman) to death and argued for rational argument, investigation and evidence to be used alongside scripture. However _Daemonologie_ also advocated for things like various forms of torture (which were later outlawed by his son Charles I) to be used in interrogation, which often led to a confession which was usually enough to seal ones fate. It was very much misinterpreted by the people, who saw it as a royal stamp of approval to witch hunts which took off in the years after its publication, and for the next century to come, resulting in hundreds of deaths. So I've kept that popular interpretation alive through the eyes of Bobbi and the pack.


	4. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heads up, there is some descriptions of a wound in this chapter. Also, because apparently some people don't like this, this is a longer chapter.
> 
> Unbeta'd all mistakes are my own.
> 
> Enjoy.

Bobbi tore into the Manor, Hunter hot on her heels, before Jemma could even get off of her horse. Her instincts, the ones she learned from her father, were screaming at her to help. Thankfully Piper had waited and led her inside and up the stairs. When they arrived on the second floor, Piper took her to a room the far end of the hall. Jemma could hear scuffling, and moans of pain before the other woman had even opened the door and usher her inside. There she saw two men holding a third, Fitz, her husband, down on the bed as he convulsed in their hold.

"What the bloody hell happened?" Hunter barked at the group inside.

"John Garrett put up a hell of a fight," the older of the two men said. "And he had help." 

"What kind of help?" Bobbi asked as she moved in to help the men restrain Fitz.

"A druid or something," the deep baritone of the other man rang as he used his massive dark arms to pin down Fitz's legs. "He threw a jar full of powder at Fitz, and now he's not healing."

Jemma cautiously stepped closer to the bed to get a look at the young man on top of it. There were deep claw marks on his chest, still heavily bleeding, but it wasn't blood that oozed from the wounds, it was a black substance. She had heard of it before, it was a rejection of some kind. Closing her eyes, Jemma thought back to her grandmother's research, human's would bleed this same thing when they rejected the bite a werewolf, but in a supernatural being, it meant something else. It meant poison.

Jemma opened her eyes, this at least was familiar, she knew exactly what to do. She came up beside the older man, while he struggled to keep hold of Fitz's shoulders and sat carefully on the bed. "Hold him as still as possible," she ordered, her medic side taking over completely. Both men tightened their hold, though Jemma knew it wasn't easy. It was difficult enough to restrain a seizing patient, let alone one who had werewolf strength.

"Bobbi, grab his head here, like this," she directed the other woman's hands under his neck, stabilizing him. Jemma laid the back of her hand on his forehead then pressed it to his cheeks and under his chin. He was hot to the touch, searing even. She pried open one of his eyelids to check his eyes, they were unfocused, and his pupils were the size of pinheads. "I need my kit," she looked up at Hunter. "It's in one of the saddlebags on my horse, square and dark leather, go and get it."

"What?" Hunter shook his head. "I'm not leaving."

"He's been poisoned," Jemma argued. "It's Wolfsbane I'm sure of it, that's why he's not healing. I have an idea to help him, but what I need is in my bag."

"Hunter, go," the older man ordered, his grey eyes never leaving hers.

"But…"

"Now, Hunter," Bobbi barked. "What else, Jemma?"

"I need warm water and cloth, torn into strips."

"Here," another tall man came in on the heels of her order, with the supplies she needed. "Who's this?"

Jemma said nothing as she took the implements from him and dumped half the cloth into the water. She needed to clean the wound before it could be dressed.

"My new daughter-in-law," the man, Phil, put in. "I presume."

"Right now I'm the woman who's trying to save your son's life," she picked up one of the strips and cleaned the wound area best could then grabbed another to drape over the wound and pressed down lightly. Fitz winced away from her touch with a groan.

"This what you're talking about?" Hunter dumped the case on the bed.

Jemma pounced on it and all but ripped the lid opened, digging through the compartments full of small jars. It took her a few tries to find what she was looking for, a small vial full of dark liquid. She pulled the stopper and pulled down on Fitz's mouth, dropping in the tiniest amount. "There we go," she soothed, running her fingers through his curly, sand coloured hair as his body settled down. "Just breath now, just breath."

"What is that stuff?" The large man asked as he let go of Fitz's legs.

"Belladonna," Jemma answered and rung out another rag, dabbing it over Fitz's forehead.

"Nightshade?" Hunter took an angry step forward. "You harpy, you've poisoned him all over again."

"Poison," Phil placed a hand Hunter's chest, stopping him still. "To fight poison, it's a woodsman's remedy, very clever."

"It should help trigger the healing," Jemma laid a cloth on his forehead and felt around his neck for any swelling.

"You'd better be right," Hunter growled.

"Take a look for yourself then," she nodded to the cloth covered the wound. 

Hunter stepped forward and lifted the cloth, Jemma peering at it from beside him. It was no longer leaking black fluid, nor even blood, but it was still open and raw, if he were human she would suture it, but she wasn't sure it was necessary here, he would heal after all. And then there was his breathing, which had settled and eased as the tonic worked through his system.

"Well, Doctor," Jemma asked sarcastically. "What's your assessment?"

Hunter said nothing but stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

Bobbi placed a hand on her shoulder. "Good job, Jemma."

"A very good job," Phil stepped forward with a smile. "Let's get you introduced to everyone now, shall we? I'm Phillip, Fitz's father, your father in law, but you're welcome to call me Phil, everyone does."

"This is Mack," Phil gestured to the tall and broad man, who offered Jemma a smile and small nod.

"Davis," he pointed to the other tall man, who had a scar running down the right side of his face.

"And finally we have Piper," he ended on the woman who met them at the front. "Everyone, this is Jemma Simmons, Fitz's wife, she comes to us from Sheffield."

"Hello," she nodded to them all. "It's nice to put names to the faces, Bobbi and Hunter told me a little about you all on our journey up."

"All lies we swear," Davis joked.

"I'm sure," she laughed in response.

"Is there anything more we can do for him?" Mack asked, looking back down at the slumbering Fitz.

"Let him rest, and hope that the Belladonna has worked," Jemma smoothed her hands over her dress. "I could use some more water to clean him up a bit, and if the wounds don't close soon, I'll set to work on stitching them closed."

"Well, we'll all pray it doesn't come to that," Phil nodded, and the pack took their leave. Bobbi took the dirtied water with her along with the promise to return shortly with more. Phil stayed behind, running a hand over his son's head. "You really think he'll be alright?"

"I believe so, Sir," she nodded. "Even if he weren't a werewolf, he's young, he's healthy and strong, those are all only good things."

"I'm Phil to you," he turned to her with a soft smile. "Or Father, eventually, I hope. I wish we could have given you a better welcome."

"That's quite alright," Jemma tried to brush it aside. "Really, I'm just glad I could be of help, do you know if anyone else who may need treatment? Was anyone else hurt?"

"That's very kind of you," he smiled. "But they've healed. And they wisely kept me away from the scene."

Jemma let out a sigh of relief, and Phil placed a hand on her shoulder. "Is there anything more you need? It's been a long journey for you, you must be tired or maybe hungry."

"No," she assured. "I mean yes, I'm tired, but I have more than enough energy to watch over Fitz for a while. Really it's you all who should get some rest, it's sounds like it's been quite a night."

"Thank you," Phil grinned, tiredness seeping into his features.

"It's really the least I could do," Jemma shook her head. "I can't thank you all enough."

Phil reached out and pulled her into a hug, Jemma was a little shocked but sunk into it. The gesture was warm, and welcoming, if this man was her father in law, his son wouldn't be so different, right? "Welcome home, Jemma," Phil whispered and placed a gentle kiss on her head.

She nodded against him and pulled away slowly. "Thank you, but please, go rest, I'll come and get you if anything changes." 

Nothing did change for over an hour. Jemma sat by Fitz's side and monitored his breathing, which remained steady. His heartbeat had evened out, and his pupils were changing in response to light when last she checked on them. With Bobbi's help, she sat him up and bandaged the wound on his chest tightly, it still hadn't closed, and she didn't want him to take a fever. The whole time she waited, her nerves on edge until finally, the man on the bed began to stir. She sprang from her chair and was by his side in an instant. "Easy," she advised and supported him as he struggled to sit up. "Move slowly."

Fitz did a double take, "Jemma?"

"Yes," she nodded. "It's nice to finally meet you, Fitz."

"You too," he groaned and swung his legs over the side of the bed. 

"Careful," she put a hand atop his shoulder and tried to direct him back down.

"I'm alright," he shrugged her hand off and sat hunched over.

"Right," Jemma moved her hand away quickly as though it had been burned. "Well, I should really go tell your father that you're awake," she headed to the door.

"Wait," Fitz called out. "Please."

Jemma turned to look at him but didn't move away from the door. 

"I just wanted to apologize," Fitz frowned. "I didn't mean to miss our wedding, or for you to have a welcome like that. I guess my fears were correct and I'm no good at this whole marriage thing." 

Jemma shook her head and moved back to sit on the bed and gave him a soft smile. "I think it can be more than excused, we are both rather new to it after all." 

"Still, I'm sorry. And thankful, I assume?" he gestured to the bandage across his chest. "Your parents told us you were well practised in medicine."

"Oh," she tucked a piece of hair behind her ear and sat beside him. "Yes, but it was nothing really, I mean you do heal on your own after all."

"But it's not always so easy," Fitz said. "Especially this time."

"It was my pleasure," Jemma wrinkled her nose. "That's not…I just mean…"

"I understand," he grinned. "And I'm grateful. It's a shame though; we had quite the fan-fare planned for your arrival. And I assure you, me being broken and bleeding was not a part of it."

"It's fine," she assured. "May I ask what did keep you? Hunter and Bobbi were fairly vague, something about another werewolf, I assume he wasn't a part of the pack."

"John Garrett," he glared. "He came to the village just after we replied to your parents' letter. He was a lone wolf and said he was just looking for a place to settle nearer to his own kind, a place where he could just be and blend in without any hassle."

"I take it that wasn't quite true."

"No, it wasn't," Fitz sat up straighter and groaned as the wound stretched uncomfortably.

"Easy," Jemma reached for him and settled him back on the bed, propping him up against the headboard. "I'm worried about how long these cuts are taking to heal."

"Well," he grimaced as Jemma peeled back the bandages. "Some wounds take longer than others, especially when they're from an Alpha."

"But you're an Alpha," she put in.

"And so was John Garrett as it turned out," he shook his head. "And a powerful one at that."

"And that all matters?" Jemma raised an eyebrow. "To the healing?"

"Well, the Wolfsbane doesn't help either," he acknowledged. "But yes, it does."

"I didn't even know a lone wolf could be an Alpha," she said as she re-bound his chest if the wounds weren't healed in an hour she'd stitch them closed. "Wouldn't he still be weaker than you? I thought werewolves were stringer if they were a part of a pack."

"And that leads us right back into why I missed our wedding," Fitz shrugged. "Not long after Garrett got here, people started going missing only to turn up again a few days later. They didn't say where they'd gone, none of them seemed hurt, and none complained of any crime that had been committed against their person, so –"

"There was nothing you could do," she finished.

"Not nothing," he shook his head. "Just very little, officially at least; but we did keep an eye on them."

"And?"

"They were all irritable, quick to anger, confrontational," Fitz answered. "It wasn't out of the realm for one or two, but rather against the norm for rest."

"They'd become werewolves," Jemma guessed. According to her grandmother's research, bitten wolves were famed for having a much harder time controlling their tempers.

"Exactly," Fitz bit his lip. "We thought at first that Garrett was trying to build a pack and maybe make a challenge against us for territory. But it wasn't a pack he was after." 

"Then was he turning people?"

"To take their power," he shook his head in disgust.

"I don't understand," Jemma wrinkled her nose.

"Do you know what a Beta usually has to do to become an Alpha?" he asked. 

"They have to kill their Alpha," she answered.

"In a sense, yes," Fitz tilted his head in thought. "It often results in death, but really what they're doing is absorbing their power, taking on their strength on to themselves."

"And an Alpha can do the same thing," Jemma guessed. "Take their Beta's power."

"And add to what they already have," he nodded. "It was Garrett's way of getting stronger. Fulfilling some deluded ambition to become the strongest werewolf that's ever been. And more importantly, doing it without having to support a pack. But just like when a Beta takes an Alpha's power, it nearly almost always leads to death."

"How many people did he do this too?" 

"Six that we know of," Fitz shook his head. "There could be more out there, though. Someone he met on his way here. Or a villager who's disappearance went unnoticed for whatever reason, one he wasn't able to get his claws into."

"And that's why you missed our wedding," Jemma summed up.

"Yes," he nodded. "John Garrett was a threat to the village, to the people we've all sworn to protect. We had to do something about it, and by the time we figured out what was going on, there was no way of getting word of a delay to you. I'm sorry, it was the best option I could think of."

"No," Jemma shook her head. "You were right to protect the village. It's more important." Fitz opened his mouth to respond, but Jemma stood from the bed, cutting him off. "What about the Wolfsbane? If this John Garrett didn't have a pack, then who threw it at you?"

"We suspect he may have had an emissary, a druid who was loyal to him," he shrugged. "Or maybe one he paid, we don't know really. And in the chaos of the scene, we weren't able to get a scent."

"So now they're just out there somewhere," she looked out the window as though expecting to find a figure out on the grounds looking up at them.

"Yes," he nodded and rose from the bed again. "But Garrett is dead, that was the bigger danger. We'll be vigilant, keep an eye out for the signs of druid activity, but for now, we can enjoy the peace while it's here."

"You really should rest," Jemma looked back at him as he picked up his mangled tunic.

"This was one of my favourites," he grumbled taking in the tears and blood on the garment and tossing it aside. He looked at Jemma over his shoulder. "So what would you like to see first?"

"I'm sorry?" she asked, watching as he took another tunic from the wardrobe. "Really, you shouldn't be moving around too much."

"I feel fine," he insisted. "Isn't that a good thing?"

"Yes, but," Jemma protested, putting a hand on his arm. "We don't want to push that."

"So we won't," he shrugged and pulled the shirt over his head, then tugged a leather vest over top of it. "It's early enough yet, and this is your home now Jemma, and I'd like to show it to you if you let me. The gardens, the forest, the village, whatever you'd like, that's where we'll start."

"I don't suppose telling you that I'd like for you to rest, is one of the options?" she asked. Fitz just wrinkled his nose, and Jemma rolled her eyes. "With whatever is in walking distance, I suppose, you know in case you collapse from blood loss."

"What, not feeling up for a ride?" he chuckled and grabbed his belt, buckling it around his waist.

"Not especially, no."

"The grounds and house it is then," he took another belt, heavy with an axe and knife.

"Why does an Alpha werewolf need to arm himself?" Jemma asked as he wrapped the belt around his waist with the other.

"Well it is far easier to turn wood with tools like these than it is with claws," he mused.

"Bobbi mentioned you liked carpentry," she recalled.

"I do," he nodded and opened the door. "But these also help keep up appearances. It would be a bit odd for if we didn't arm ourselves against the criminals, we track."

"That's a good point," Jemma admitted as he led her out into the hall.

They started their tour in the grounds, she'd been right earlier the high hedges she saw from the road did hide a garden. She spent time crouched next to various plants that had survived the frost, identifying them and making a catalogue in her mind of what may be of use for her medicines. 

"I can build you some planters if there's anything you need now, but you're welcome to plant whatever you wish when spring comes," Fitz smiled as they walked through the hedges. "I'm sure Davis would be more than happy to give you a hand, the garden is kind of his pet project."

"Oh?"

"He was as an under-gardener at some Lord's estate in the south of England, until he was turned at least," he stated. "You should have seen the state of this place before he got here, it's night and day."

After the gardens, they went to the stables, where she saw her horse, Ripley, had been brushed and watered already. Fitz showed her where they kept the saddles, the brushes and feed. She stroked Ripley's long face and fed him an apple while Fitz checked and sized his hooves, he would handle the re-shoeing himself when needed.

Then it was on to one of the outbuildings which Fitz had claimed as his workshop. Tools lined the most of the walls, a large table sat in the middle of the space, with still more tools strewn a top of it. "I actually have something for you," he reached under the table after Jemma complimented some of his designs. "It's not quite finished yet, but here, so you can see, give some input if somethings not right."

He put a box in front of her, a beautiful thing made of cherry wood. It was an apothecary's case, only instead of opening at the top like her current one, its doors swung out, which would make it far easier to find the vials she would need. The interior was a deep red velvet, with empty bottles already inside, waiting to be filled. There was also places for cloth, bandages, and suturing materials, not a single bit of space was wasted. She couldn't have designed it better herself. "It's gorgeous," she breathed and traced a finger over the knotted border he'd etched into it. "Thank you."

"You're very welcome," he smiled. "You think it'll work?"

"Absolutely."

"Good," he tugged at his ear. "I was a little worried, I've never seen a case like this before, but I thought if you needed something in a hurry, this would-"

"Make things easier," Jemma finished. "It will it's brilliant."

Fitz's cheeks flushed. "Well, I still need to stain it, but um should we move onto the house?"

"In a minute," she stepped in front of him. "I'd really feel better if you let me check your wound, please."

Fitz tugged off his vest and shirt without argument and sat still as Jemma peeled back the bandages. It was amazing, it wasn't wholly healed not yet, but instead of the fresh, raw cuts that had been there only an hour ago, it was now sealed like it happened days old. "Well?" He asked as Jemma handed him his shirt. "How does it look?"

"They're healing, thankfully," she said. "We could probably take the bandages off here if you wanted."

"I can deal with them later," Fitz said, pulling his shirt back on. "Shall we?"

Jemma nodded and followed as he led her back to the Manor. He showed her the kitchens, where Mack was already hard at work on that night's supper. The whole room smelled incredible with a warm, savoury scent in the air. The large man gave her a taste of the stew he was making it was even better than it smelled. He smiled warmly at her when she told him as such and spooned up a small bowl for her. Then Mack turned and smacked Fitz's hand away from the pot after trying to sneak a taste for himself.

Fitz took her through the main floor, the sitting rooms, the drawing room, and the study before taking her to the dining hall where they ate a lovely dinner with the rest of the pack. It was the loudest meal Jemma had ever sat through as they all spoke to each other and over each other, laughing and joking, it was delightful chaos. When everyone was finished, and the plate cleared away, the two continued with their tour. First, he took her to a back room off of the kitchens. "I thought this may do for a surgery if you think it'll work. We'll get you whatever you need to set it up to your liking."

"Really?" 

"If you're willing to act as a doctor of course, or healer, I guess would be the better, if less appropriate title," he scratched at his ear. It was a nervous habit of his, she noted when he was unsure if he was overstepping. "You can also use it to do your research if you're don't, it's yours to do with what you will."

"No, of course, I'm willing," she looked over the room, making a list in her head of all the things she would need. "This will do wonderfully, thank you, Fitz."

The house's West wing was all about business. A few of the rooms stood as offices, for their work as Sheriff and deputies, where writs of law, tax information, the taxes themselves were housed, under lock and key. They even had their own printing press to make notices for the village citing curfews, warning of wanted criminals, when taxes are due and the like. Some of the rooms acted as cells, where they interrogated suspected criminals or held those awaiting trial or transport to the Tolbooth at St Giles in Edinburgh. 

Most of the East wing contained bedrooms on the upper floors, but the best part of the tour was the third floor, the library. The room was wide and long, taking up the entire storey. Large windows overlooked the gardens and would let in plenty of light through the day, and there were at least a dozen shelves that stood from floor to ceiling, each filled with books. Novels, poems and plays, journals on all manners of things, each shelf labelled carefully with the topic its books contained. She was browsing through the section on Fairies when a yawn forced its way out of her mouth.

"It's been a long day," Fitz came up behind her, a tome in his hand. "I should really show you to your room, let you sleep after your journey."

He took her down a flight of stairs and to the end of the hall. It was the same bedroom that they had been in earlier, though the sheets had been changed and the bed made. It was his room.

"Yours is through here," Fitz brought her to an oak door in the far corner. He opened it for her and Jemma stepped inside. The walls were the creamy white plaster, which created a nice contrast to the dark oak of the furniture and beams. Her bags rested on a trunk at the end of a large four-poster bed. It was quite lovely. She looked back at Fitz, not sure what to do.

"Should we…?" she trailed off, not sure how to ask. They had a duty, after all, they still needed to make everything nice and legal, but she couldn't deny she was nervous. Fitz was kind, kinder than she'd dared hope he would be, but what would come next was once again an unknown. It could be painful she knew, in theory at least, but in practice...there had been some stolen kisses from a stable boy or two when she was younger, but that was it. Would he be as kind when he took as he had been all day?

"I want to make something clear," Fitz looked her right in the eye. "You're safe here, Jemma; completely. I don't just mean that I'll keep you safe from all the things your parents worried about. You are safe. I won't do anything to harm you. I won't force myself on you, or make you do anything you don't want to do. Our marriage, it wasn't your choice, so I'm giving you one. You're free. You're free to do what you please with whomever you please. Discreetly, of course, the people of the village do need to believe that we're actually married. But I understand that ours is a marriage of convenience, and one of friendship, I hope."

"Definitely one of friendship," she smiled at him, relief flooding through her. "Thank you, Fitz."

"Of course," he nodded. "Good night, Jemma."

"Good night, Fitz. Sleep well."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Wolfsbane is also called Monkshood, and Devil's Hamlet, and Aconite, and a lot of different names. My Auntie (who lives in Glasgow) had never heard of it being called Wolfsbane before, so I don't know if the name is as commonplace in the UK as it is in Canada. But Wolfsbane is better fitting (and truer to the source material) so that's the name I'm sticking with.


	5. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: There is a dead child (10y/o)in this chapter! There is also descriptions of wounds and blood. If those are in any way triggering for you please do not read.

A knock at her door roused Jemma the next morning. "Jemma," she heard a vaguely familiar voice call out. "May I come in?"

She gave a loud groan in response and buried herself further under the covers of her bed. She didn't remember it being this comfortable. She heard the door creak open and shut her eyes tight against the invading light. "Jemma?" the voice asked again, was that a Scottish accent? She squinted as the door opened and saw him, Fitz, and it all came flooding back.

"Good morning," she groaned and stretched.

"Good morning," Fitz replied and raised an eyebrow at her. "Were your things not brought?"

"What do you-" she looked down at herself and saw she was still in her dress from the day before. "Oh, yes they were brought. I just fell asleep before I could change, I suppose."

"Alright then," he smiled. "Are you hungry? We all usually eat breakfast together, but I can have something brought up to you if you prefer."

"No, that's alright," she pushed herself out of bed. "I'll get changed and be down in a moment."

"And you remember where to go?" he asked. "Or would you like me to wait for you?"

"That's very kind," she shook her head. "But I can manage, go, eat. I won't be long."

"Ok then," he nodded and closed the door behind him.

Jemma changed quickly and rushed down the stairs to the dining room. Only Phil was at the table. He rose from it and pulled her gently into a hug. "Good morning, my dear. How was your sleep?"

Jemma flushed. She didn't know if he was aware of the agreement between her and his son, clearing her throat, she responded. "I didn't know beds could be that comfortable; I very nearly didn't get up this morning." 

"When we first moved in here, Fitz didn't. I swear the boy slept for three days, I had to dump a bucket of water on him to get him to move," the man chortled. "And Hunter, he still has to be dragged out of his bed, kicking and screaming nearly every morning. Now let's see what's for breakfast shall we?"

He led her to a table against the back wall, where platter after platter of food stood waiting; eggs, bacon, bread and preserves, oats, cheese, fruit, and, even some little fish. She watched as Phil helped himself to a plate. "You'd better grab what you want quick," Phil advised. "There won't be much left once Fitz and Piper get their hands on it."

She placed a few eggs, some pieces of bacon, a slice of bread and some fruit and cheese on her plate and joined her father in law at the table. She'd just sat down when the door to the room opened and the rest of the pack filtered in chattering away. "Fitz will be in, in a moment," Bobbi said as she sat with a plate of bread, bacon, and cheese and began constructing them in piles on top of each other. "He just wanted to check on something in his workshop."

"Surprised to see him up and about," Hunter said around a mouthful of food and sent Jemma a wink. "And you too. Or do the newlyweds need a little break for the next round?"

Davis smacked him over the head with a napkin on his way to his own seat.

Piper sat down across from her, her plate piled high with bits of everything on offer. "I have to say," she tucked in. "I never thought a banshee would be so…so, uh."

"Young?" Jemma supplied for the stuttering woman. 

"Let's go with that," the brunette took the out.

Jemma laughed. "I'm not sure what to tell you, I'm not quite sure why the stories of us as old, ragged, hags persist."

"I'm not complaining," the woman said and returned to her food with a slight blush.

Jemma was about to respond when Fitz came in and helped himself to a plate of food piled even higher than Piper's had been. He sat down beside her, and she watched as he tucked in with vigour, shoving an entire egg in his mouth and almost swallowing it whole. She wrinkled her nose at the sight, but Fitz was too engrossed with his food to see it as he took a massive bite of his bacon on toast.

"I wish I could say that this was all down to him being a werewolf," Phil broke in, giving his son a look. "But I'm afraid my son had always had quite the appetite, and table manners always seem to slip his mind when he's hungry."

Fitz immediately slowed his eating, his ears flushing red. 

"So, Jemma," Phil continued with a smile on his face. "We typically go down to the village after breakfast, do some patrolling, see if there are any crimes to be reported, break up any skirmishes and the like, are you interested in joining us? It'd be a good way to get acquainted with the village and the people."

She swallowed her mouthful and smiled. "Of course," she smiled. "I want to be useful."

"I'm happy to hear that," Phil reached out and squeezed her hand. "Your parents praised your medical skills, no doubt you'll soon be busier than the rest of us."

Jemma grinned at his words and tucked back into her meal. Soon enough they all finished their meal, Piper and Fitz finishing first despite taking twice as much as the rest of them. Then they rode out, Jemma beside Fitz. "So the people think you investigate crimes?" she asked.

"Yup," he answered. "And we do. It'd be a poor cover if we didn't. Besides a lot of the crime in the area is related to the supernatural, not that village is informed of that."

"Really?" 

"Yeah, werewolves, kanima, druids you name it they all just seem to be drawn here," Fitz explained. "We've run into things I'd never even heard of; it's why your grandmother was such big help."

"Do you know why?" 

Fitz shook his head. "Unlike the case of the missing ale from the tavern, that is a mystery we haven't quite figured that out yet."

Jemma laughed. "And what happened to the ale?"

"The barkeep forgot how much of his wears he'd sampled the night before," he smirked as Jemma continued to laugh. 

They tied their horses to a post outside the tavern and walked through the centre of town, spreading out immediately. Hunter and Bobbi took off to the left, Davis and Piper right, her and Fitz straight, Phil only a few steps in front of them. People kept coming up them, the potter, the tanner, the miller and more, all offering their congratulations and best wishes to the new couple. 

"He's such a good young man," an old spinner said as she patted Fitz on the cheek. "He deserves a nice thing like you."

"It's nice to have such a pretty new face in the village," a gardener offered as he scratched at his hands. "Maybe it'll make this one smile more. Do try and get him into trouble now, you hear, he deserves to have a little fun."

"I'll try," Jemma grinned and watched as the man gave his hands another scratch. There were angry, red splotches, all over them. "Are you quite alright, Sir?" she asked. "I'd be happy to take a look at your hands if they're troubling you."

"Oh, it's nothing, Miss," the gardener insisted. "Happens all the time, I don't want to cause a fuss,"

"It's no trouble at all," Jemma insisted. "And if it happens all the time then it really should be looked at."

"My wife's father is a doctor," Fitz explained, taking in the man's surprised expression. "He thought it prudent to teach her the art of healing."

"It's been a while since we've had a healer in these parts," the man held his hands out for Jemma to examine.

She looked the hands over, front and back, up to the wrist and back down again, and pressed gently on one of the sores. "Do you work with rue at all?" Jemma asked after a few minutes.

"Yes, Miss, quite often." He responded, surprised. "I've been grubbing out a few old rue hedges on the Earls property, still have another half dozen of the blighters to go, but it's slow going with these."

"I would suggest you were gloves when you continue," Jemma advised. "Some people react poorly to rue when it touches their skin, and it presents in rashes just like this one. And if you can, try soaking your hands in warm water that's had cherry bark resting it for a while, it will sooth the rash. And remember not to rub your hands dry but to pat them gently with a soft cloth."

The gardener smiled. "Thank you, Missus and congratulations again."

"Thank you, sir," Jemma smiled. "And do come by the Manor if the rash doesn't go away, I'll take another look."

"I will," he tipped his hat to her. "You have a wonderful day now."

Word of Jemma's talents spread quickly, and soon even more people were coming to them, not only to offer their congratulations but also to ask her advice and treatment for minor aches and pains. "What did Phil tell you, you're of more use than the rest of us already," Piper teased as she waved to a mother and her babe who had come to Jemma worried about the baby's cough. 

Jemma collapsed onto her bed that evening, it'd been a long day, but a good one. Bobbi had been right it'd been a long time since a doctor had come to the area, she already had people that she needed to see to the next day. Minor things luckily, but still, it wasn't what she had anticipated at all in coming to Scotland. She sat up with a groan, as much as she wanted to just asleep then and there, Jemma knew that, unlike the night before, she should get changed. She went to her bags and pulled out a nightgown when a knock came from her door. "Come in," she called.

Fitz poked his head into the room. "I wanted to show you something I found in the library," and looked to the garment in her hand. "But, I think perhaps I should just wish you a good night instead."

"No," she put the nightgown down on the bed and headed to the door. "It's alright, what is it?"

"It's been a long day," he shook his head. "I should let you get some sleep."

"I am tired," she admitted. "But I can stay awake a while longer."

"Really, it's alright, it's not important," he denied, retreating back into his room.

"So tell me something that is?" Jemma followed.

"What do you mean?"

"Tell me more about you," she sat at his desk.

He took a seat on the edge of his bed facing her. "Is there anything, in particular, you want to know?"

"How did you become a werewolf?" She asked. "When did it happen?"

Fitz let out a long breath. "I guess it was about eight years ago now. I was in my workshop; it was late. I had no idea how late really; I get lost in a rhythm sometimes when I'm working. But then I slipped, hit my thumb with a hammer, it snapped me out of it, and I realised how tired I was. So I packed it up to go to bed."

"I had barely even stepped outside," he continued. "When something smashed into me from behind. I didn't even hear it coming, but it slammed to the ground."

"Then what?"

"I got bitten," he sat back on his hands, staring ahead. "It felt like my whole body was on fire. I had no idea what was happening, or what would happen, but as suddenly as it happened, it was over, and whatever did it was gone. It was only when I went to re-dress the wound the next morning and found it had healed all on its own that I knew something was amiss."

"Do you know who it was who turned you?" Jemma moved to sit next to him.

Fitz nodded. "His name was Gideon Malick. He was trying to rebuild his pack after his last one was caught up in a witch-hunt a few months before. But I refused to join him. I wanted nothing to do the man."

"Then what happened?"

"He accepted what I said, warned me about the struggles of a lone wolf, but I didn't care, so he left," he said. "However, that also meant that he left me to learn how to be a werewolf all on my own."

"And what about your father?"

"I told him what happened the moment Gideon approached me," Fitz grinned at her. "He was shocked and angry, but he wanted to help me. So together, we started learning everything we could. It was difficult, the resources that we were able to find were few and far between. Honestly, it was mostly just guesswork and determination on our part, until we found a source in Sheffield, who was more than willing to offer her expertise." 

"My grandmother?" Jemma asked.

"Yeah," Fitz nodded. "She was a great help, put us in touch with so many others who helped up make sense of it all. It was a steep learning curve, but we did learn. In large part, thanks to her."

Jemma felt tears prick at her eyes. She'd always thought her grandmother a little selfish; the woman had been so determined to find a way to stop her powers that it was hard to see past it in what remained of her research. But now, knowing that her Grandmama did help others with what she learned, that she didn't hoard all that knowledge, it was nice to know. "What about when you became an Alpha?" she asked. "I mean, did you…" she trailed off.

"Kill Gideon?" he asked. "No. He did die, but not by my hand."

"So, then how did you become an Alpha? I thought a Beta had to take power from their Alpha," she recalled.

Fitz nodded along. "That is normally how it works. But sometimes, a Beta or an Omega can become an Alpha by their own merit."

"How," she asked, she'd never come across that in her research, but it did give her comfort in knowing that Fitz wasn't a killer.

"People see werewolves as beasts, monsters," He began. "While some embrace that reputation, others, myself included, want nothing to do with it. I won't lie the full moons were difficult at first, but my father told me something that helped anchor me to my humanity."

"And what was that?"

"That just because I had become predator, I didn't need to become a killer," he grinned. "I didn't need to become a monster to be feared; I could use my new skills to help people against those that did, I could find a different kind of prey, I could protect them. That's all I ever wanted really. So I started to help my father more and more. My heightened sense of smell made it easier to track the criminals we were looking for. My hearing made it easier to spot them in a lie. With my speed, it was easier to catch them if they pulled a runner."

"And all that somehow made you into an Alpha?"

"Sort of," he fidgeted. "After a few years, Malick returned. He still wanted a pack, and he wasn't taking no for an answer this time. But I still refused, so he figured the best way to make me join his family was to eliminate mine. He took my father, beat him and held him captive in a dungeon."

"I take it that it wasn't as simple retrieval as you're making it sound."

"The door to the dungeon was made of rowan wood," he explained. 

"Which is a ward against most supernatural creatures," Jemma recalled.

"But I was determined," Fitz pressed his thumb into his right hand. "It nearly killed me, but he was my father, he was all I had, and nothing was going to stop me from saving him. It took every bit of strength I had in me, and then suddenly, I was through, and my eyes went from gold to red."

"You said Phil was all you had," Jemma asked. "Where was your mother in all this?"

"She died of a fever," he sniffed. "I was ten."

"I'm so sorry," she took his hand in hers and squeezed.

"What about being a banshee," Fitz changed the topic. "I have to say everything I've read makes it all sound quite confusing. The voices I mean, do you hear them all the time? Is it loud or like whispers? Are they all talking over each other or saying the same thing?"

"It depends," Jemma began. "Sometimes it's quiet, like now, I don't really hear them at all unless I'm paying attention. Other times it's so loud that I can't do anything at all, but sit in the dark and wait for them to quiet down again."

"How much control do you have over them?" he asked. "I know they've made you wander in the past; it's part of why your parents were so concerned."

"I have plenty of control when I'm awake," she admitted with a shrug. "Or rather I know when it's happening, and I can stay awake so long as I let them guide me. It's been years since they've taken total control when I'm."

"But when you're asleep?" 

"That's the real issue. I have no control when I sleep. If the voices want me to find something, I'll find it. I look awake, but I'm not, but at least now I know what's going on when I come to again. But there's only so often you can claim to be a sleepwalker when you keep stumbling upon dead bodies."

"It must have been terrifying," Fitz ran his thumb over the back of her hand. "The first time it happened."

"It was," she smiled sadly. "It still can be, that feeling of dread in the pit of my stomach when the voices start whisper that something is coming, it's awful. And, I'm afraid, nowhere near a useful as a werewolf's powers. It's all terribly vague sometimes."

"That's kind of what I wanted to show you," he smiled. "I found a journal in the library written by a Victoria Hand about fifty years ago, she was a Banshee from Devonshire. She was able to weaponise her screams, project them. She documented breaking glass, felling trees, and being able to push people back, all with the force of her scream."

"Really?" Jemma was intrigued, she never thought about that before.

"Yes," he nodded. "I left it out on the desk. We can look at it tomorrow if you'd like."

"Of course," she smiled. "Can I ask you another question?"

"Absolutely."

"What made you turn Bobbi, Mack and Hunter?" she bit her lip. "You just don't seem the type go around biting people wanting to build a pack for himself."

"Well, I'm glad you think that, because I'm not," he admitted. "I never wanted to bite anyone. Ever. And it's not something I take lightly. Some Alphas think that the bite the most supreme gift that you can bestow on a person. I disagree, I think one of the worse things you can do to a person and has the potential to unleash hell on Earth if you turn the wrong one. Besides, I had a pack, sure it wasn't werewolves, but it was family, my dad, and Bobbi, at the time, it was really all I needed."

"So, what changed?"

"Bobbi got sick," he explained. "Very sick. She was dying, and she knew it. So, she asked me to bite her. I was worried that it would kill her, she was so weak with fever, but she made the point that she was dying anyway, so what was the harm? If it worked she'd live, I could teach her how to be a werewolf, and I wouldn't have to lose my best friend. If it didn't, well, then she wouldn't be suffering anymore, and I've have given her peace. I'm just happy it worked out alright."

"That makes two of us," she replied. "What about Mack?"

"That's a bit different of a story," he shook his head. "He wanted to start up his own bakery when he got to town, but he didn't have the money. Jasper Sitwell, he owned the tavern back then, wouldn't hire him to cook, so Mack took up work as a thatcher. He was friendly, liked to pop by the Manor to talk about tools and carpentry, and we let him use the kitchen to perfect some of his recipes, we were more than happy to let him test those out on us."

"Of course," Jemma laughed.

"One night Bobbi and I were chasing down this Astomi who had been slaughtered cattle in the area when he decided to head to the rooftops," Fitz explained. "I followed him up high, while Bobbi trailed from below. Mack was there, I guess he had wanted to get an early start on his repairs. Anyway, he got caught up in the tussle and nearly fell off the roof. I grabbed for him, had a hold and everything, but then the Astomi pounced on me, started pulling at me, dragging my arms away from Mack, like he wanted him to fall. I lost my grip on him and did the only I could think of to keep hold of him."

"You bit him," Jemma guessed.

"Yes," he confirmed. "Admittedly it wasn't my smartest move, but I didn't really think, just reacted. Not long after, Bobbi caught up with us and was able to get the Astomi off me. I pulled Mack up, but there was nothing that could be done to stop the change. He was less than thrilled about that."

"Why," she was surprised, Mack seemed like a perfectly happy man, and he and Fitz were thick as thieves. "It's better than being dead right?"

"He didn't see it that way at first," Fitz shrugged. "Mack is a very religious man, he thought I'd condemned him to a life of damnation. It took a while, but he came around eventually, what we do helps with that."

"Well, that's good," she mused. "And Hunter?"

"Oh," Fitz blinked a few times. "He's not a werewolf."

"Wait, what?" Jemma did a double take.

"Hunter," Fitz said again. "I didn't bite him, he isn't a werewolf."

Jemma racked her brain for a moment, trying to recall the journey north. Never once had Hunter actually called himself a werewolf, Bobbi had never referred to him as a beta, it had been an assumption on her part she supposed. "So then, what is he?" she asked. 

"We don't know actually," Fitz shrugged.

*

Jemma found herself in the library every night after supper for the next fortnight following her late night talk with Fitz. He had shown her the diary he'd found the next day, and she been reading, re-reading and taking notes on it ever since. It was fascinating, the woman, Victoria Hand, had spent years honing her powers, getting her scream to project out like a cannonball, mowing down anything in its path. More importantly, she treated her diary as a kind of guide, leaving behind tips, training techniques and advice. She was itching to put the theories into practice and had shown the journal to Bobbi, who had been more than eager to help her train. There were logistics to work out first, like finding a place where they wouldn't risk any real damage to place or person, but Bobbi was handling that, and Jemma couldn't wait for them to begin.

The diary wasn't the only thing she read, the copy of Daemonologie by King James had proven to be quite the tome. And as Bobbi had warned her, rather useless. But it wasn't the worst amongst their collection, that credit belonged to the Malleus Maleficarum. "Ridiculous nonsense," Jemma huffed and slotted the book back on to its shelf with less care than she typically would. 

"What's ridiculous?" a voice asked from behind her making her jump.

"Sorry," Fitz chuckled. "Didn't mean to scare you."

"It's alright," Jemma shook her head. "It was my fault, I was a little lost in thought."

"About?"

"The useless words of your king and others," she intoned.

"He's your king too," he smirked. "Has been for nearly a decade now." 

"Well, he wasn't when he published his trifle. Why do you even have these things?" Jemma asked. "It's not like it actually contains anything real or useful."

"Yes it does," he argued gently. "It contains their fears, and more importantly, it explains why they're afraid of us."

"And that has value?"

"If we know what it is about us, that they fear," he explained. "Then hopefully we can avoid becoming those things."

"But at its core, they fear us because we're different," Jemma pointed out. "And there is very little we can do about that."

"I didn't say it was easy," he shrugged.

Jemma let out a laugh, which turned into a yawn. "It's late," Fitz said. "I was just getting ready to turn in myself when I saw the candles on, can I walk you to bed?"

"I would like that," she smiled at him and grabbed a candle to light their way and blowing out the others. Stepping past Fitz into the hall, she turned left and started on her way.

"It's the other way," Fitz grabbed her arm gently. 

Jemma paused and felt a familiar tingle crawl up her neck. "No," she sighed. "It's this way."

"What are you talking about?" he asked.

"Come on," she gave him a look and continued on her way down the hall.

Fitz grabbed a torch from the wall and hurried after her as she walked calmly down the stairs. "Jemma, do you know what's going on?" he asked as they made their way outside, taking the candle from her and using it to light the torch. They were heading towards the forest. 

"Yes," she replied softly. "We're almost there."

They had just entered the forest when he smelled it, sending him several paces back, the metallic scent of blood. It was overpowering and Jemma heading straight towards it. "Wait," he stepped in front of her, holding back the bile that rose in his throat. "Let me go first."

It didn't take long for them to find what they were looking for, not with the voices guiding Jemma and Fitz's sense of smell. What they saw stopped them cold in their tracts, a small mangled body laying on the forest floor. A child. Jemma tucked herself against Fitz's back, shielding herself from the view, a sob ripped out of her throat. There was so much blood. Fitz too closed his eyes against the sight, it was never easy to deal with death, but children just made it all the harder.

Stealing his breath, Fitz took a tentative step towards the body when a rustle sounded from the trees behind them. He turned at once and pushed Jemma behind him, his claw out and teeth bared, ready for whatever was lurking there. A figure burst through the trees, and Fitz crouched down, ready to attack, but it was just Bobbi. "What are you doing?" Fitz hissed at her.

"Trying to beat him here," the blonde gestured behind her as more rustling came from the forest.

Jemma peered into the trees, there was a fiery glow flickering through them, quickly coming closer and closer, until it burst into the clearing alongside them. It was Hunter. Jemma took a surprised step back, he was unlike anything she'd ever seen before. He had fangs and claws like a werewolf, but that was where the similarities ended. The glow came from cracks on his skin, it looked like there was lava beneath the layers sinew. His eyes too were orange, and flickering like firelight. It was like nothing she'd ever seen before. He paid them no notice as he headed straight towards the body. 

"Near as we can tell, Hunter is like you," Fitz said quietly from beside her, watching his friend carefully, still shifted into form. "He finds the bodies too, but it's different."

"Different how?" she asked, watching as Hunter bent down and picked up the remains.

"That's how," Fitz nodded, as Hunter started to walk away from the scene, the body cradled in his arms. He turned to Bobbi. "We'll follow Hunter, you run ahead and wake the others up. This is going to be a bad one."

Fitz took Jemma's hand and started after the man following the flicker of flames that licked off his body.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: Continuing from the last chapter this one once again deals with the deal (murder) of a child.

They followed Hunter back to the manor, to Jemma's surgery off of the kitchens. They watched as he gently placed the body on the table then stalked out of the room without even sparing the two of them a glance.

"He won't remember a thing about this in the morning," Fitz said as he watched his friend march back to the main house, flames still jumping off his skin.

Jemma moved forward to the body and chocked back a sob; it was a boy, he couldn't have been any older than ten. She took a deep breath, putting her emotions in a box, just like her father taught her to do in difficult cases, and forced herself to focus on the details; her sadness could wait, the boy needed to be examined, and she was the only one who could. "There are claw marks here," she said, taking in the head and neck. She reached for a rag and dipped it in the water barrel at the end of the table and wiped at the boy's face. There were deep slashes across the right side, but he was still a handsome young thing. "Fitz," she called. "Do you know who this is?"

He didn't answer her; she looked over her shoulder at him. His back was turned away from her, his hands on his hips as he nearly doubled over. She could hear him sucking in deep breaths in a bid to calm himself. She'd seen plenty of men disturbed by blood and gore before, but it was cute in a way, that an alpha werewolf like her husband suffered from the same affliction. However, this was no time to be sympathetic. "Fitz," she said sternly. "We need to identify him; he'll have a family. Do you know who this is?"

She heard him take a deep breath, and he came to peer over her shoulder at the body. "It's Victor," he said, his voice strained. "He's the cobbler's boy."

Jemma nodded and continued with her examination as Fitz turned back around. "His left arm has nearly been ripped off," she noted. "And he has minor lacerations to his legs. They're thin, he was probably running, and branches scratched at him."

She heard Fitz sniff a few times, and she thought he was sniffling back tears until he spoke. "He was terrified."

"How do you know that?" Jemma asked over her shoulder. She didn't like declarative statements like that, not at a time like this.

"Bodies give off all kinds of scents, and different emotions mean a different scent," he explained and nodded at the boy. "Fear, it's still lingering on him."

"The poor thing," Jemma stroked a hand through the boy's red locks. "Do you think it was a werewolf?"

"No idea," Fitz answered. "We have no way of knowing yet. Lots of things have claws. Once Bobbi's gathered the pack we'll go back and search the area, see if we can find anything find."

Jemma nodded as he headed to the door. "You should get some rest," he advised. "I'll let you know what we found at breakfast. Then we'll notify his family."

"No," Jemma responded. "I'm going to clean him up, stitch his wounds and ready him for his parents."

"I can't ask you do that," he said. "You've done more than enough already."

"You're not asking, Fitz, I'm telling," she gently wiped more muck from Victor's face. "No one should have to see their child like this. No one should have to stay like this. I'm not going to let him stay like this."

"Thank you," he paused in the door.

"Go," She smiled at him, sadly. "Find who did this."

Fitz was out the door without another word, and Jemma returned to her work. It took almost two hours for her to repair Victor's body. She finished cleaning his skin of gore that marred it, re-attached his arm the best she could and sutured the cuts to his face and neck closed. She washed his hair of blood, mud and dirt, and brushed it into a semblance of calm. Finally, she grabbed a blanket and placed it over the boy; there was nothing else that she could do for him that night. In the morning she would ask Phil if he had any of Fitz's old clothes that might fit, they'd help hid the wounds from the boy's parents when they arrived. And after breakfast, or perhaps before, she'd get some help from the pack to rotate Victor's body around, that they would not have to see wounds to his face. With one last look at the boy's face, Jemma finally allowed herself to go upstairs to her bed, but she did not sleep. Her mind raced with the images of the night as the voices screamed louder than they had in a very long time. She wasn't sure how much time had passed when she heard Fitz enter his room. Getting out of bed, she knocked on the door separating their rooms. 

"Come in," she heard him call gently. 

She walked into his room and shivered she should have grabbed a dressing gown; she felt very exposed in just her nightgown. Not that Fitz was much better, he only had on a loose pair of linen trousers and a tunic whose sleeves had been chopped off at some point. "Were you able to find anything?" she asked and crossed her arms over her chest.

"Nothing of value," he sat slowly on the edge of his bed and ran his hands through his hair. "There was no scent besides the boy's, no prints, no hairs, nothing."

Jemma shivered again and wrapped her arms tighter around herself.

"Are you cold?" Fitz asked. "I can get more blankets for your room, or get the fire started again; I think we have some bed warmers somewhere."

"No," she shook her head. "I mean yes, I am cold, but not because it's cold. I think it's because I'm unsettled, it can happen, afterwards, when my mind runs with the voices. It's difficult to focus on much of anything after, sleep, warmth, it doesn't matter my body won't settle into it."

"Come here," he stood up, and as Jemma walked over to him, he reached out and pulled her into his arms. He was warm, very warm; she couldn't help but cuddle deeper into his chest. "Did you…" he began and cleared his throat. "Did you want to stay in here?"

"With you?" she looked up at him, not pulling away more than necessary.

"I don't mean…I only meant…just to sleep, I mean," he stammered. "Or not sleep. We could talk, or read, whatever you'd like, whatever you think would help."

"I think it would," she smiled. "Thank you."

"Ok," he nodded and guided her to his bed. They settled in together but kept their distance until Jemma shivered again. Fitz stretched an arm out for her and Jemma curled herself in laying her head down on his chest. She could hear his heartbeat underneath her ear; it was soothing. Between his warmth, the feeling of his thumb as it grazed up and down her arm, and the steady rhythm of his heart Jemma found that the voices began to whisper again and soon enough she was fast asleep.

*

A loud pounding on their bedroom door started them awake the next morning.

"Fitz!" Piper shouted from the hall. "It's time for breakfast, you overslept!"

Fitz groaned as Jemma rolled off of him and sat up wiping at her eyes.

"Did you sleep alright?" he asked, pushing himself up with a wince. 

"Yes," she smiled down at him. "I did, thank you."

"Of course," he smiled. "Jemma if you –"

"Move it, Fitz!" Piper cut off whatever he was going to say with another slap to the door. "We're hungry."

"We shouldn't keep them waiting," Jemma rose from the bed and rushed to her room. Fitz flopped back on his bed with a groan; Piper had the worse timing.

When Fitz finally entered the dining room, Jemma was already there, tucking into a plate of fruit. He readied his own plate and took a seat next to her, but he did little more than pick at his food.

"I've already been down to the village," Phil said, looking at them from the head of the table. "I've informed the cobbler and his family."

"How are they?" Davis asked, pushing his plate away.

"Shaken," Phil responded. "Understandably so."

"Do we know what Victor was doing out in the forest by himself?" Jemma asked, spearing a berry and popping it in her mouth.

"It seems he and some other boys wanted to spend the night in the woods, do some fishing, eat over a fire, sleep under the stars, that sort of thing," he explained. "His parents saw nothing wrong with that."

"Where are his friends?" Bobbi piped up from around her own food.

"All accounted for, they started telling scary stories when the sun went down," his father responded. "The others got scared and left; Victor stayed to see out the night."

"And we're sure none of the others is missing?"

"Positive," Phil confirmed and looked to Fitz. "His family want to bury him here, I trust you can get a spot ready for them."

Fitz nodded, "give me a few hours."

"Good," he stood. "I'll make sure everything else is in order; his parents will be here sun down."

Jemma raised an eyebrow at that; sundown was an odd time funeral. She turned as saw Fitz all but inhale the food on his plate, and stood to go. "Can I help in any way?"

"Sure," he answered. "It's probably something you should know anyway."

She followed him out to the garden shed and took a large roll of parchment from him as he grabbed two shovels. Then they made their way to the west side of the property and into the forest, following a small overgrown path. It wasn't a long walk at all until they arrived at their destination, a clearing surrounded by a low stone wall and inside more stones littered throughout.

"A cemetery?" Jemma asked Fitz to helped her over the wall.

"Yes," he responded, setting down the shovels and taking the parchment from her.

"It's nice that you allow the villagers to use it," Jemma said. "Is it not a family plot?"

"Not really," Fitz shook his head. "I mean, my mother is buried here, but that's it. This is one of the only places some of the villagers feel comfortable burying their dead."

"I'm not sure what you mean," she raised an eyebrow. "Does it have anything do with why we're holding a funeral at night?"

"We're not just supernatural Jemma," he looked at her. "My father and I are Catholic. Lots of Scotland still is, but…"

"Catholics and all their practices are were outlawed more than fifty years ago," she finished. "So the Sheriff and his deputies are breaking the law, huh?"

"Only the stupid ones."

"Agreed," Fitz looked up at her in surprise. "I'm not Catholic, Fitz, or even really religious," she explained. "I'm not sure if I believe there's a God, especially on days like this. But I can understand why people do. There's a comfort in it, it allows for peace of mind. But to banish an entire religion or to fight for the supremacy of one over another it's not something I'll ever agree with."

"If only more of the world saw things like that," he mused.

Jemma nodded, it would be a near perfect world if that happened, but she was doubtful it ever would. "So you arrange for Catholic burials here?"

He nodded. "Davis and my father are getting the priest, and Mack is going to prepare some food for Victor's family."

"And we're digging the grave," she finished solemnly.

Fitz nodded and pointed to the paper, Jemma saw a chart of the cemetery. Each grave marked by a rectangle. "Not all of them have headstones," Fitz explained. "And the markers we've put in can deteriorate over time. So we always make sure to mark where we put the new ones."

"What about right there?" Jemma pointed to the far corner, where a shaft of light broke through the canopy of trees. It was beautiful.

Fitz consulted the chart and smiled at her. "Good choice, let's get to it." 

Jemma followed as Fitz made his way over to the spot. She took the parchment from him as he marked out the grave with one of the shovels and noted it on the chart for him. She then took up the second shovel and started digging. They were at it for nearly two hours when Hunter came out with a third shovel, a pitcher and small sack slung over his shoulder. "Bobbi insisted you need food, but was too busy to do it herself," he dropped the bag at the edge of the hole. "And Mack made me bring out some fresh milk."

He reached down and helped Jemma from the grave while Fitz climbed out himself. "So I hear I went on a little walkabout last night?" he asked as Fitz opened the sack and passed Jemma a hunk of cheese.

"Not before she did," Fitz responded over a mouthful of apple.

"I guess two harbingers of death are better than one," the other man shrugged and grinned at Jemma. "What?" he asked, taking in her wrinkled nose.

"Nothing," she shook her head. "I'm just not sure that's what you are."

"What do you mean," he sounded affronted, stealing another apple from the sack. "I find bodies just like you."

"Well, yes," Jemma supplied. "But my eyes don't glow, I don't have hot coals under my skin, and most importantly I've never been compelled to take a body away after I've found it."

"Plus," Fitz broke, grabbing the pitcher and taking a long sip. "She remembers everything."

"That too," Jemma agreed. "But I think I'd trade you for that."

Hunter shook his head. "Well whatever I am, it doesn't matter, let's see more about this hole yeah?" he jumped in and took up one of the shovels while Fitz and Jemma finished their meal before joining him.

The three of them finished the grave in quick time and made their way back to the manor. Jemma and Hunter went inside to get cleaned up while Fitz made his way to his workshop. Sundown approached faster than anyone wanted and soon Bobbi and Phil went out with a wagon to get the boy's family. With Piper's help, Jemma wrapped Victor's body in a shroud and placed it on the cart ready to be taken to the cemetery. The whole time Fitz had never left his workshop.

Jemma went to his room, grabbed him a change of clothes and went out to meet him. She found him sitting at his desk, hunched over a ream of parchment. "Fitz," she called softly, waiting for him to look up at her. "Victor's family will be here soon, I brought you something nice to wear."

"Oh," he blinked a few times rapidly and set down his charcoal. "I must have lost track of time."

"That's alright, wait until the surgery gets busy," she said, setting the clothes beside and passing him a cloth to clean his hands. "You'll have the same problem with me. What are you working on?"

He pointed to the door, where she saw a wooden cross resting. "A temporary one for now," he explained and showed her the parchment and the beautiful knotted cross that was there. "It will take a while to make, but I figured eventually we could replace it with this. So his parents will have something better than a simple bit of wood or stone with his name on it to look at when they come to visit their son."

"That's very kind of you," she smiled and set the parchment down. 

"It'll be a small comfort to them if it's one at all," he shrugged. 

"I'm sure it will be," she placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed gently.

"I'll be just a moment," he nodded at her and went outside. She heard the splashing of water from the rain barrel as he cleaned himself up from the day. 

When he came back in Jemma felt her jaw drop, he had no shirt on. She didn't know why it made her pause. She'd seen shirtless men before; she'd seen him with no shirt on before, the night they met when she patched up his wounds. But she supposed that was all rather clinical in comparison to this, he had been her patient that night, he had been broken and bleeding, though she was glad to see that now there wasn't even a scar from the claw marks he suffered that night. She took up a towel and moved to pat the water off of him, she hadn't realized how fit he was under the shirts he wore. He was lean, but there was nice definition to his pectoral and abdominals. In many ways, it was much more pleasant than the bulging, intimidating muscles some men she had treated with her father possessed. She watched a bead of water as it dripped from his hair, over his chest and down his stomach to the waistband of his trousers before she snapped out of her daze.

"Sorry," she cleared her throat and passed him the cloth. "I…sorry."

"Because a beautiful woman drying me off is such a hardship," he laughed lightly, though his face was a little flush. "Let me get changed and I'll meet you by the cart?"

"Of course," Jemma nodded and hurried out of the workshop, her cheeks burning. She walked as fast as she could towards the cart, Piper was there waiting.

"Are you alright, Jemma?" she asked as the other woman stopped beside her. "You're looking a little rosy, are you getting sick? You don't have to come tonight, we can make your excuses to the boy's family."

"No," Jemma cleared her throat. "No, I'm fine. I just didn't want to be late, so I ran."

"You sure?"

"Yes, thank you, Piper," she forced a smile.

In the distance, they could hear the sound of horses neighing. "That'll be them," Piper said. "You ready for this?"

"As I'll ever be," Jemma replied, smoothing out her dress and pressing a hand to her cheeks willing them to return to their usual, pale colour. There were more important things to worry about now than her attraction to her husband.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading.
> 
> Historical note:
> 
> So in 1560, The Scottish Reformation made Catholic practices illegal in Scotland, at least in name, the only exception was for Mary, Queen of Scots. But really the religion kind of just went underground. Mass and holy days were celebrated in houses rather than churches, late-night funerals and so on and so forth. So yes, Fitz and his father identifying as Catholics and allowing their practices to be held on their property, are totally breaking the law.


	7. Chapter Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all, sorry about the delay in posting, between work, work, family stuff, and some competitions where I was pulling double duty something had to give. But luckily things have calmed down considerably so here we go. hope you enjoy

Rumours and questions spread through the village like wildfire in days after Victor's death. Why had the boy been out by himself? Why hadn't he returned home after all his friends left? Had he been lured away, tricked by some faerie or controlled by witchcraft? And unfortunately Victor wasn't the end of it, the pack had found two more bodies in the woods the next day while out on patrol. The other victims were older, adults in their twenties or so, but otherwise it was just the same as Victor, deep claw marks targeting the head and neck. Phil was confident enough in Jemma's findings to tell the pack they were likely looking for another werewolf. But that wasn't information they were going to share with the masses. They instead started the rumours of a rabid wolf pack in the woods, but that didn't stop others from believing that something more sinister was at play.

Jemma could feel the tension in the air as she and Bobbi walked through the town. "So you think it's better to hold off on our training for now," she finished what Bobbi had been saying. 

"At least with trying to get your screams to project," the blonde nodded sadly. "The villagers are all on edge right now and –"

"A piercing wail ringing through the air in the dead of night may fan the flames a little too much," Jemma agreed. 

"I can still teach you some hand to hand combat, though, if you want,” Bobbi suggested. "It's good to know how to defend yourself.”

"I would like that," she smiled at the woman.

"Would like what?" Fitz asked, coming up beside them.

"I'm going to teach Jemma how to fight," Bobbi explained. 

"We were planning to work on some of the techniques from Victoria Hand’s diary," Jemma put in. "But we think it would be best to keep that practice theoretical for now."

"I wish I could say I disagree," Fitz shook his head. "Maybe if you used one of the interrogation rooms I could try and figure out way muffle the sounds. Like padding the walls with –"

A loud yelp cut Fitz off, followed many voices shouting and jeering from the street ahead. They looked up and watched as a man tumbled out of one of the shops, at least a half-dozen people filed out after him, pushing him to the hard cobblestone. The three rushed forward as the mob pummelled the man with fists, sticks and stones, and whatever else they could while he curled beneath their blows, trying to protect himself from the vicious attack. Fitz and Bobbi pushed through the crowd as the rest of the pack joined in, pulling people back and circling around the beaten man.

"What the hell is going on?" Fitz asked the man he had hold of. "Why are you all attacking this man?"

"It's him," the attacker fought against Fitz's hold, pointing down at the beaten man. "He's the one that killed those people, he killed that boy!"

"What are you talking about," Davis shouted. "It was wolves, not a man."

"What kind of wolf can do that kind of damage?" The same man argued. "No, it was monster, it was him!"

"And what proof do you have of that?" Fitz demanded, shoving the man back.

"He's from France!" 

"So what?” Hunter growled as he shoved another attacker back. “lots of people are.”

Jemma took the chance to rush to the man's side. She kneeled next to him, gently prying his arms away from his head, his face was a bleeding mess. "We need to get him back to the manor, I have to suture these closed," she called to the pack. "What's your name, Sir?"

"Pi-Pierre," the man wheezed, spitting out a mouthful of blood.

"Just breath, Pierre," Jemma soothed, running a hand up and down his arm. "We'll get all this sorted."

"He's a tailor," a woman from the crowd cried and tried to push her way past Piper.

"I fail to see the connection," she shoved her back with a glare.

"Oh come on," another protester barked. "You've heard the stories, the Demon Tailor who ate the children that wandered the forest at night. Well, he came here to the village on the heels of that mess."

"A coincidence," Fitz argued. "That man was sentenced to death, he burned at the stake for his crimes. "

"What proof do we have of that?" A voice called from deep in the throng. "They could have just shipped him off here. They did! So we'll deal with him this time!" 

The crowd all cheered in agreement and rushed forward again.

"ENOUGH!" Phil shouted as he stood up on the edge of the fountain, above the crowd. "Stop this nonsense at once, or I will take you all in front of the magistrate!"

The crowd fell back a little, and the pack drew in tighter around the man. Rage hung in the air, if something wasn't done quickly, it wouldn't be long before they all charged again. "We understand you're afraid," Phil spoke calmly from his perch. "We know you want answers, so do we and we are searching."

"We've found the answer," a shout came from the crowd.

"You have not!" Phil barked. "You found a tailor from France. It’s not an uncommon occupation.” 

"We'll take him to the Manor and talk with him," Fitz spoke up. "But if any more damage occurs to his property, if there are any attacks on him or his family, they will be met with swift and stern justice. Sharing a country and profession as a known criminal is in not enough to condemn a man, we'd have to lock three-quarters of you up if that were the case."

"I urge you all to keep your senses,” Phil stepped off the fountain, his voice steady but stern. “Times are difficult enough without us all turning on each other at the slightest provocation. We will be enforcing a curfew, I want all citizens out of the forest before sundown. Everyone to be back in their homes before the church bells ring Compline. My deputies and I will act as sentries around the village and in the forest. Those who do not comply with the curfew will be placed arrested for their own safety.”

The crowd dispersed, grumbling their disappointment as they went. Phil, Davis and Piper stayed behind to spread the word of the new curfew while the rest took the tailor back to the Manor. Jemma followed as Fitz and Hunter carried the man to her surgery and Mack headed into the kitchen to start warming water for her. Hunter left after getting the man settled on her table while Fitz leaned against the back wall. "Alright, Pierre," she said, reaching up to his face. "Let's get you checked out."

"Please," he dodged her hands. "Please, I did not do these things. I swear it. Please, my family, they must be safe. I can't, I can't —"

"Ok, ok," Fitz assured, coming up and placing a hand on the other man's shoulder. "It's alright, I promise you, we will protect them and you. I swear it, but you need to let Jemma fix you up alright?"

“But what they accuse me of," Pierre continued to evade Jemma's hands. "I didn't do it, I would never." 

"I do believe you," Fitz assured and passed the man a cup of tea Mack had brought in. "Drink this, it will help calm you down so Jemma can do her work."

They watched as the man drank deeply, Fitz nodded to Jemma when he set the mug down, and she set about her work. Pierre's nose had to be reset, his cuts cleaned and stitched, and he'd be lucky to see out of his eye in the morning. She wished she had some leeches to put on the eye they'd help reduce the swelling, she should see if Fitz knew of a place to get some nearby when they were done with Pierre. Luckily there seemed to be nothing to sever on his body, bruising from the kicks, but no broken bones or lacerations. Soon enough they watched as Bobbi took Pierre back to town in the wagon, with their assurance once again that one of the deputies would stay posted outside his shop and home until villagers calmed down. 

"So you're sure that the villagers' accusations were false?" Jemma asked as the wagon disappeared out of sight.

"Yes," Fitz said. "Besides, even if he were a shapeshifter, we'd know it."

"How?" 

"The tea," he explained. "There's Rowan wood in it. It was something my father made up for suspected supernaturals, Pierre was unaffected by it ergo."

"Human," Jemma finished.

"Or he's some kind of fire beast like Hunter," Fitz shrugged. "He's the only shapeshifter it hasn't worked on."  
Jemma nodded. "What about what the villagers were talking about? Who's the Demon Tailor?"

"Did you not hear about that one?" he looked at her in surprise. "The Demon Tailor of Chalôns?"

Jemma shook her head.

"It was a while ago now," Fitz started. "A bunch of people went missing in the town, children mostly, so of course there was panic. I don't know what led the magistrates to him, but the tailor's shop was raided. They found barrels full of bones in the basement. The tailor confessed to luring the children to his shop after he stumbled upon them in the forest. And then he'd kill them, eat them, and kept their bones as a trophy of sorts to remember his triumph over them."

"That's horrific," Jemma wrinkled her nose.

"It was," Fitz agreed. "The man was convicted of being a werewolf and executed. He was burned alive and subjected to an old Roman practice where all records of him were destroyed. His notice of birth and baptism, the deed to his shop and residence, anything he ever signed or that bore his name was set ablaze alongside him."

" _Damnatio memoriea_ ," Jemma finished. "Damnation of memory."

Fitz nodded. "The only thing we know of him is his crimes and punishment. Everything else died with him."

Later that night, as they were about to turn in, Jemma paused at the door that separated her room from Fitz's. "What do you think is going on?"

"I have no idea," he looked out his window and sighed, rubbing at his forehead. "I know what my father said, but I've never seen a werewolf do something like this before."

"What do you mean?" she asked, coming up next to him and threading her arm through his. 

"There's usually a point to an attack; building a pack, or revenge, or something, but this is entirely random. We don't know who the other two victims were, but they aren’t connected to Victor in any way, besides what could a young lad do to someone for them to want to harm him like that. And then there are the wounds they suffered, you said you only found claw marks."

"And if a werewolf were trying to change them they'd have bite marks," Jemma finished.

"Exactly," Fitz shook his head. "I have no idea what we're dealing with."

"Could it simply be wolves?" Jemma suggested. "A rabid pack of them in the forest? Like we’ve told the village."

"Doubtful," he replied. "Animals kill for food. Even if the attack was sparked by defence or territory, an animal would take advantage of the meal. This different, like its sport. Only humans do that."

He let out another sigh and turned to face her. "You've had quite a time had since you arrived. I know it's all fairly new to you. I hope you'll allow me to say that I'm very impressed with how well you've been dealing with it all. How you've jumped right in, with no hesitation. It's nice to have a wife who is not only kind and smart and beautiful but also so resilient."

"Thank you," she smiled at him. "I could say the same about my husband. How you take all this responsibility on your shoulders, the villagers, protecting them like you do, there aren’t many who would do that.”

"Jemma," he cleared his throat. "I was hoping to talk with you about—"

"You said I was safe here, right?" she faced the window again. "That I could do as I please?"

"Yes," he nodded.

"With whomever, I please?" she asked. "You meant that?"

Fitz swallowed hard and looked down at his feet. "Of course I did, I want you to be happy." It was all he wanted, even it wasn't with him.

He felt a soft hand on his cheek and looked up at Jemma. She beamed at him as she curled her hand around his neck and guided his head down, sealing their lips in a kiss.

Fitz tensed for a moment before he relaxed in her hold and allowed his lips to slide over hers. Jemma moved her hands to rest against his chest, as his trailed up to her neck, tilting her face up gently for a better angle. When they finally broke apart to breath, he rested his forehead against hers, had that really just happened?

Jemma looked up at him and smiled. His eyes were closed tightly like he was afraid she would disappear if he opened them. She'd never realized before how long his eyelashes were. She reached up slowly and brushed her thumb under them, watching as they finally fluttered open and found her own. "Was that alright?"

Fitz nodded against her and she moved back in, threading her fingers through his curls, and pulling him closer as his arms wrapped around her waist. Jemma felt his tongue brush over her lower lip and slip into her mouth, stroking gently over her own. She didn't know that was a thing that was done, but she didn't mind it in the slightest. She pressed harder against him as his hands stroked over her back and hummed softly against his lips. This was so much nicer than she'd thought it'd be. Her head was spinning.

She pulled away, panting her hands still resting against his own heaving chest. No matter how much air she sucked in, the dizziness wouldn't stop. She stumbled back away from him and leaned against the wall trying to regain her balance.

"Jemma?" Fitz came up beside her. 

"Something's wrong," she swallowed back a wave of nausea as a tingle spread down her spine. "Something's happening."

"Now?" he crouched in front of her, brushing her hair out of her eyes. "Do you know what?"

She shook her head, tears forming in her eyes. Fitz pulled her into a hug and whispered reassurances in her ear as he dropped kisses on her head.

A furious knock came from the door, breaking them apart. "Fitz," Bobbi yelled through the door. "We gotta go, Hunter's on the move."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	8. Chapter Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: there is mention of more dead bodies in this chapter. There is also a sex scene in this chapter. If you don't like those things you can pretty safely skip this chapter, they'll be eluded to in the next one but not in as much detail.

Most of the pack trailed behind Hunter as he marched deep into the forest. Jemma stayed tucked against Fitz's side as the voice grew louder and louder in her head, whatever it was it was big, and it was bad. When they got to the river, and the voices stopped, Jemma wanted to vomit. It was a massacre. Ten people, maybe more, were heaped along the water's edge, all torn apart. Jemma looked up at Fitz; his eyes glowed red, his fangs were out and claw at the ready, the rest of the pack the same. 

"I guess people didn't think we were serious about the curfew," Davis noted as they watched Hunter pick up one of the bodies. It fell apart at the waist as soon as he heaved it into his arms. Piper retched at the sight.

"Please tell me one of you has something," Jemma begged. "A smell, a sound, anything."

"Spread out," Fitz barked. "There's something here I can feel it."

They'd barely taken a step when the first arrow flew past them and lodged itself in the trunk of a tree, inches from where Piper was standing — followed by another and another in quick succession.

"Take cover," Fitz shouted, as an arrow hit Hunter stomach. He turned around to grab Jemma when he saw it, a shining bolt heading right towards her. Fitz lunged at her, pushing her out of the way as he felt the piercing thud of the arrow hit his back. A second one joined the first, as he scrambled to push Jemma and himself under the low branches of a grey willow. He pushed her flat to the ground and set himself atop her shielding her from any more arrows that might find their way through the tangled branches of their cover.

Just as quickly as the attack started, it seemingly stopped. Was the shooter out of arrows? Or were they simply trying to lure the pack out again with a false sense of calm? Fitz dug his claws into the dirt by Jemma's shoulders, the tension eating away at him. So was the pain.

"We're clear," Davis's voice rang out, and Fitz couldn't stop his sigh of relief.

He rolled off Jemma, eager to see who had attacked them. "No, stop," Jemma tried to grab at him, but it was too late. He felt the shafts of the arrows snap as he rolled to his back, leaving the tips behind. He winced in pain but offered a hand to help Jemma up. 

She ignored it with a glare as she pushed herself off the ground. That had been a stupid thing to do, there was no way he would be able to heal with those tips still in his flesh, and he knew it. What had he been thinking?

"What was that?" Bobbi asked from Hunter's side. He at least looked like himself again, no glowing cracks in his skin. There was blood on his stomach, Jemma noted, but she saw the full arrow on the ground beside him and knew he had healed no worse for wear.

"Ask her," Piper said as David dumped a body to the ground in a heap, it was a young woman. "I was able to take Davis with me when I went invisible," Piper exclaimed excitedly. "I didn't know I could do that."

Jemma knelt next to the body, the girl wasn't moving, but she was conscious, her eyes burning with anger. "I was able to get her with my claws," Davis explained. “It will be a few hours before it wears off."

"Take her back to the Manor," Fitz ordered glaring down at the woman. "Put her in one of the interrogation rooms. I want her guarded all times."

Jemma moved out of the way as Davis scooped the woman back up. "Who is she," she asked as Fitz took her hand and started back home.

"No idea," 

"Do you think she has something to do with this," Bobbi came up beside them.

“I don’t know,” Fitz answered honestly. “I don’t think so."

At the Manor with their prisoner safely secured, and Davis safely ensconced outside the door. Piper was going to relieve Davis in a few hours later and Hunter after that. Fitz sent Bobbi down to the village to tell Mack and his father about what happened, and to bring the bodies back to the Manor. Fitz had wanted to go back to the massacre site, but Jemma grabbed his arm and steered him to his room by his elbow, cutting off every argument he gave. She wanted to get those arrows out of him and would hear no word against it.

She sat him down at his desk firmly. "Stay there," she ordered and went to her room for her kit. "And take your shirt off."

She grabbed her medical case and opened it, digging through for a set of thin pliers and cloth. She grabbed his small copper washbasin and set it down on the desk next to him. "That was a foolish thing you did," she admonished, taking her place behind him and surveying his wounds. One of the tips rested just beside his spine. "You could have been killed."

"Better me than you," he shrugged then winced at the motion.

"Don't move," she admonished.

Fitz tensed and let out of groan of pain. "Ow, ow, ow."

"Fitz," Jemma rolled her eyes. "I haven't even touched you yet."

"I know," he said after a beat. "I was just practising."

She snorted a laugh and leaned closer to kiss his cheek. "Just try to relax." He took a deep breath and nodded. "Thank you, though," Jemma said as she brought the tip of the pliers to the first wound.

"For what?" he gasped in pain.

"Pushing me out of the way," she was able to feel the tip at once and swiftly pulled it out. "Those arrows would be in my throat if you hadn't."

"As I said," he turned his head and kissed the hand that rested on his left shoulder. "Better me than you."

"We'll agree to disagree on that," she said as she dug as gently as she could around the second wound. "You really shouldn't have rolled over though; it makes this much more difficult."

"Yeah well, I was in a hurry," Fitz hissed in pain as the pliers made contact with the arrowhead.

"I've got it," Jemma held his shoulder tighter. "Hold still."

Fitz tried not to squirm as Jemma clamped down on the tip. "There we are," Jemma pulled it free with a swift twist of her wrist and pressed a cloth to the wound. She dropped the second point in the water bowl with its mate. She swished them around in the water and peered at them. "Silver?" she looked at Fitz. "Is that supposed to do something?"

"A stupid rumour," he shrugged his shirt back on. "It's supposed to kill us apparently, no idea how that one started."

"It doesn't matter," she put a cloth over the bowl and turned to face him. "Do you feel alright? Are you dizzy? Is there any pain? A burning sensation?"

"I'm fine," he assured. "The wounds healed almost moment you pulled out the arrows out."

"Good," she placed her hands on his chest. "You know, we didn't get to finish our conversation earlier. It might sound awful, given what we just saw, but I think I could use the distraction right now."

“I agree," he smiled softly and placed his hands on her waist. "Remind me, where did we leave off?"

She went up on her tiptoes and kissed him. He sunk into her immediately, pulling her in tight as she nipped at his lower lip. Fitz slowly walked her backwards until she bumped gently into the bedpost, his lips dropping from hers to trace over her cheek, her jaw and down her neck. His lips brushed a spot just under her ear, and Jemma moaned out loud, clutching him tighter. Fitz focused in on that spot, skimming it with his lips, nipping at it, then soothing the sting with his tongue, until she'd had enough and threaded her fingers through his curls directing his lips back up to hers. Getting lost in the feeling of their kiss, Jemma dropped her hands to the bottom of his shirt and tugged it up his body.

Fitz pulled away. "Jemma, are you sure?" 

She stepped back from him, pulling at the laces of her gown, pushing the garment off of her shoulders. It pooled to the ground at her feet, leaving her nude before him. "I am," she assured and took his hand in hers, placing it on her breast.

Fitz was dumbstruck as he took Jemma in, beautiful didn't seem like strong enough a word to describe what he saw. Her soft, pale, skin was dotted with freckles, and he felt an urge to trace the patterns they made with his fingers or his tongue; it didn't matter which so long as she would let him. Under his hand, her breast was soft and heavy; almost as though moving on its own accord, his thumb brushed over her dusky rose nipple. He felt a shiver run through her as the nub tightened under his attentions. 

Jemma brought her hands to his shirt again and slipped them underneath the loose fabric. Scrapping her nails gently over his taut stomach, she pushed the shirt up his torso once more until he pulled it off himself, letting it fall to join her gown on the floor. He grabbed her waist gently and pulled her tight against him, as she brought his head down to kiss him once more. She settled her hands against his warm chest, as their tongues tangled languidly together, and pressed herself closer to him. Something hard pressed against her hip, it was his cock she realised with a groan.

She shuffled back to sit down on the bed, Fitz moved with her holding onto the kiss for as long as possible. They pulled away for air, Jemma scooted up the mattress towards the pillows, her heart racing. She watched as Fitz stood at the end of the bed, tugging at the ties of his trousers and pulling them down his legs. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath to calm herself. She wanted this, especially now, but it was still a monuments thing, and she'd be lying if she said she wasn't nervous. She felt the bed dip under Fitz weight as he crawled towards her, his stubble tickled her skins as he placed kisses on her knees, her thighs, her hips, on his way. A pleasant feeling spread through her body as he paid the same attention to her torso, laying gentle kisses all across her stomach and ribs. When his lips brushed across her nipple, Jemma arched against him; she felt as though she could catch fire. 

"Oh Fitz," she moaned as his hand closed over her other breast, rolling the bud into tight peak between his fingers, while he teased the other with his tongue. She brought her legs up around his waists and ground herself up against him, shuddering as his cock slide between her folds. She pressed kisses to his hair as he bucked against her, and brought her hand down to his rear, feeling the muscle has it flexed under her hand. 

Fitz abandoned her breasts and surged up to claim her lips, kissing her hungrily. Jemma reached between them and took his hard length in her hand, grinning as Fitz buried his head into her neck with a groan. She looked down between them, the deep dark red tip of his member poking out the top of her fist was already leaking with precum. 

"Jemma," Fitz gasped and bucked hard into her hand after a particular twist of her wrist. She smiled up at him and pecked his lips, it pleased her to no end that she was able to fill him as much passion he did her, but it was time. She directed him to her opening and held her breath as the head of his cock pushed into her gently.

Fitz moved slowly, pushing himself in to the hilt before he paused and looked at Jemma's face for any signs of pain. "Are you alright?" he asked, stroking a strand of hair off her face and tucking it behind her ear.

"I am," she whispered and pulled his head down for a gentle kiss. There had been a sharp pinch at first as her maidenhead broke, but the discomfort had faded quickly, leaving behind a pleasant fullness as her channel stretched around him. She ran a hand over his back, feeling the tension in his muscles as he held himself back, waiting for her to tell him she was ready, letting her take the lead. "You can move now."

The first few thrusts were slow, measured and hesitant, experimenting as they tried to find the right rhythm. Jemma's hands weren't idle, running over his shoulders, down his back and to his arse as his thrusts grew faster and more sure. She could feel the pleasure building in her stomach, as Fitz peppered kisses on her neck and shoulders. "Oh," she cried out after a hard thrust hit something inside her that made stars burst behind eyes as the feeling grew. Jemma dragged her nails down his back, marking him, as he hit that spot again and again. She knew she was about to burst, but she just needed something more. Wiggling a hand between them, she stroked over the nub she knew was the seat of her pleasure, the moment her fingers grazed it she felt that coil tighten to its limit. 

Fitz pressed his forehead to hers and looked between their bodies, watching as his cock plunged in and out of her. He looked up at Jemma's face, her bottom lip trapped between her teeth as she took in the sight as well. Looking back down he watched as her fingers worked at a spot between her legs, he'd have to remember it for later, whatever she was doing to it made her walls clench tighter around him in the most fantastic way. He trailed kisses down her neck and atop her chest, it was heaving and flushed pink, her breasts bouncing in time with their thrusts. He brought his hand up to one breast and brushed over the nipple, Jemma moaned at the contact. Taking the bud between his fingers, he rolled and tugged at it as he brought his lips to the other.

Jemma felt as though something snapped within her as pleasure spread through her body like wildfire. She moaned as the feeling overwhelm her. One of her hands dropped Fitz's arse as the other weaved into his hair, she tugged his head up, perhaps not as gently as she should have, and claimed his lips with her own; kissing him hungrily as her hips stuttered up against his uncontrollably. 

"Jemma," he groaned as he felt her pussy spasm around his cock. His thrusts lost all rhythm as he pounded into her until finally, he reached his own climax. His cock twitching as he spilt inside her.

Jemma stroked his face as he held himself above her, scattering soft kisses to his cheeks, his nose, his lips, everywhere she could reach. She hissed when he pulled out of her and rolled on his side next to her. He ran his fingers through her dark tendrils and laid gentle kisses of his own on her shoulder. "Was that alright?" he whispered, tracing his fingers over her arm. "Are you alright?"

"I am," she turned to face him and rested her forehead gently against his own.

"I know it can hurt for women," he said. "The first time, everyone says it does."

"It was nothing more than a pinch," Jemma kissed his lips softly. "It faded as quick as it came, and then it was just…"

"Bliss?" he offered. "Euphoria? Complete and utter indulgence?"

She giggled and nodded against him. "Yes to all."

He wrapped his arms around her and rolled onto his back, pulling Jemma along with him. She laughed and splayed herself against him, as he trailed her fingers over her lower back. "I guess this means we're properly married now," he mused.

Jemma smirked and reached up to play with an errant curl, a smugness filled her as she noticed it was damp with sweat. "I guess we are," she nipped at his collar. "Fitz I…" she trailed off.

"Yes?"

"I love you," she looked him in the eyes.

He beamed. "I love you too."

Jemma smiled and pecked a quick kiss to his lips before she settled her head on his chest. With Fitz's fingers moving gently up and down her spine, she was asleep in moments.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	9. Chapter Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!

Chapter Nine (edited)

When the sun rose the next morning for once in her life Jemma didn't rise with it. Fitz was so warm, and she was more than content cuddled up against his side. Propping herself up she took in the man beside her, he looked so fine in his sleep, like a character from the Greek myths she'd read when she was younger. She gently traced her fingertips over his brow, his nose, his lips; they'd been so soft against hers the night before. She peppered gentle kisses on his jaw and giggled as he groaned under her attack. She trailed her lips down his neck to the sensitive spot she found the night before on his collarbone.

Fitz groaned, and she felt his fingers tangle in her hair, as he guided her up for a sleepy kiss. "Good morning, Husband," she grinned against his lips.

"Mmmm, I didn't know my wife was such an earlier riser," he protested. "Go back to sleep."

"Really, you want to go back to sleep?" she teased, scratching her fingernails through his stubble. "Because I can think of a much better way we could spend the morning together."

She tossed a leg over him, straddling his waist, and leaned down to capture his mouth with her own. He moaned as she tugged at his lower lip with her teeth. Jemma grinned at the noise, she liked that she could make him make those sounds. 

"You're right, this is a much better idea. Got any more of them, Wife?" Fitz smiled sleepily at her when she pulled back.

Jemma grinned wickedly at him and sat up straighter, grinding down she could feel him start to harden under her. She brought his hands to her breasts and bit her lip as he pinched and rolled her nipples between his warm fingers. She could feel the now familiar prickle of pleasure tick up at the base of her spine. 

Fitz sat up and leaned in to kiss Jemma again when a loud knock sounded at the door. "Go away," he hollered hoarsely, to whomever it was.

"Get up, Son," his father called sternly through the door. "Be downstairs in ten minutes, or I'm coming in with the water bucket."

Fitz flopped back into the pillows with a groan as Jemma clambered off of him. "Come on," she said, frowning down at him. "I guess it's time to get up."

"But," he sputtered, looking thoroughly put out. "We had plans."

"You heard your father," Jemma chided gently as she rose from the bed. "He'll be back if we're not down soon, and I, for one, have no desire for him to see me like that."

Fitz rolled over with a groan and buried this head in the pillows, and his morning had started out so pleasantly too. He'd just started to drift off again, when the covers flew from his body, leaving him bare to the crisp morning air.

"Up, Fitz," Jemma glared, fully dressed, from the end of the bed. "Or I'll get a bucket of my own."

"You are a cruel, cruel woman," he moaned, poking his head out from the protection of the pillows.

"And you need to get dressed," she called from the door and paused, throwing a wicked smile over her shoulder. "I like the view, though."

When Fitz finally strolled into the dining room, dressed and ready for the day, the rest of the pack was already there. Some like Jemma and Bobbi were eating, others were all huddled around an hourglass, watching the sand fall. "Good morning," he greeted and went to fill up a plate.

"You couldn't have lazed about for one more minute," Davis groaned and trudged to his chair. "We've had the water brought up from the well and everything, why would you deprive us of such a show?"

He glared at the tall man and looked down the table to his father. "So what are we going to do about our guest?"

"That's what we're here to figure out?" Phil taking up a quill. "Who as an idea?"

"I say we keep her in the cell, chuck the key, and forget all about her," Hunter said, tucking into his plate. "Let nature take its course from there." 

When no one said anything he looked up, all eyes were on him. “What?"

"We're not killing her," Phil insisted. "She's not the first person to come after us, and she won't be the last."

"So we interrogate her," Piper said. "See if she was just some hunter out in the woods who got scared, or something more?"

"She's more," Jemma said.

"How do you know?" Bobbi asked.

"The arrows she used," she explained. "The tips they were made of silver."

Everyone at the table groaned. "Does anyone know how that stupid rumour got started?" Mack asked.

"A question we can ask her," Phil stood from the table. "Who wants to talk to her with me."

"Not Hunter," they all chorused.

"Hey!"

"It should be you and Jemma," Fitz said to his father.

"Me?" Jemma asked. "But I don't, I mean I've never…"

"It's the best option," Bobbi explained. "We have to assume she knows what we are. And besides, she would have seen us all shifted in the forest, there's no way she'll open up to any of us."

"You and Dad talk with her," Fitz rose from the table. "And I'll stand outside the room, listening to her heartbeat, we'll see if we can catch her in a lie."

"I don't understand," Jemma said.

"Hearts beat faster when people lie," Davis explained. "If we focus hard enough, we can hear it."

"It's sorted then," Phil nodded. "Jemma, let's go. The rest of you stay close, we don't know what's going to happen."

Jemma followed Phil through to the offices. "Do you always question suspects with two people?"

"Usually," he answered and looked over at her. "We find it works best, one person usually asks the questions, while the other listens for stressors, inconsistencies, anything that jumps out to them, anything they think could be exploited."

"And which role am I to play?"

"I think you should ask the questions," Phil said.

"Me?" Jemma was stunned. "I've never interrogated anyone. I wouldn't know where to start."

"Of course you have," Phil insisted as they arrived outside the room. "Every time you treat someone, you're interrogating them. Look at when you arrived here. You had no real idea who any of us were, but you immediately took charge. You asked clear, concise questions about what you wanted to know, took in the information and adjusted from there. This really isn't that different."

"You make it sound so simple," she shook her head.

"You have good instincts, Jemma" Phil placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "You'll see when you get in there, and I'll be there with you in case I'm wrong. But I'm more than confident in my assessment."

Fitz came up behind them and leaned against the wall. "You ready?" he asked, smiling softly at Jemma.

"I don't know to be honest," she stepped closer to him, soaking in the warmth radiating off of him.

He took her hand and pulled her closer, hugging her around the waist. "Just remember to breathe," he advised. "You're going to be good at this."

"Phil said the same thing," she propped her chin on his chest and looked up at him.

"Well like father, like son," he shrugged with a grin and leaned down to give her a quick peck on the lips. "Good luck."

She smiled at him and left his arms to go into the room with Phil. The woman was chained to the floor, sitting there, glaring at them. Phil pulled over two of the chairs that sat against the wall while Jemma kneeled in front of the stranger. "Hello, my name is Jemma, this is Phil," she gestured to her father-in-law. "What's your name?"

Silence.

"Can we get you anything? Are you hungry, or thirsty?" She tried again. The woman only glared. Jemma followed her gaze, it was locked firmly on Phil.

"What are you?" the woman asked her steely eyes.

"She speaks," Jemma mused, while Phil remained silent, the same unreadable look on his face.

"We'll answer your questions if you answer ours," Jemma bargained. "Your name?"

"I don't negotiate with monsters," the woman turned her cold eyes on Jemma.

"I'm the Sheriff," Phil answered from his chair.

"They made a werewolf Sheriff?" she scoffed. 

"So you know about the supernatural?" Jemma continued. "Well, that's one question answered. If it gives you any comfort at all, Phil isn't a werewolf, he's human."

"And I'm just supposed to believe that?" the woman turned her gaze on Jemma. "Besides that still leaves you."

"You saw me in the forest," she shrugged. "You know I'm not a werewolf."

The woman snorted. "I know no such thing. Just because you weren't transformed doesn't mean you aren't something."

"True enough; I'm a banshee," Jemma offered, figuring it was best to be honest with the stranger. "Now, we've told you all this, can we at least have something to call you?"

"Daisy," she offered after a beat.

"Daisy," Jemma nodded. "Well, all of the shapeshifters that live in this manor would like me to tell you that silver is useless against them. It holds no special adverse effects or whatever else you've been told, against werewolves.”

"Pretty sure it still hurts to get shot by it," Daisy sneered. "What's a banshee doing with a werewolf pack?"

"They're not all werewolves," Daisy rolled her eyes at the semantics. "If you must know Fitz and I are married. He's Phil's son, and the one you shot in the back last night."

"Twice, I believe," the other woman smirked. "Why in God's name would you marry that monster."

"I married a good, honest man," Jemma glared.

"You married a dog."

"We need to know what you saw, Daisy," Jemma said through gritted teeth. Maybe Hunter had had the right idea after all.

"You know what I saw."

"I mean before we got there," she explained. "Did you see what attacked those people?"

"You really need me to answer that?" Daisy sneered. "You're the one surrounded by beasts."

"It was no one in this manor," Phil rose from his chair and glared down at her. 

"You sure about that?" Daisy smirked.

The door burst open with a loud bang that made Jemma jump. "What are you doing?" Phil asked Fitz as he stormed in.

"I've had enough of her games," he snarled and pulled Daisy to her feet, his eyes flashing red. "You did this, didn't you?"

"What?" Daisy struggled against his hold.

"You murdered those people!" Fitz barked, tightening his grip. "To what? Lure us out and kill us all? I mean what're a few innocents when you believe you're saving an entire village right? That how your lot thinks.”

"Are you insane?"

"Stop avoiding the question!"

"Of course not!" Daisy shouted. "I'm duty bound to protect people from the likes of you!"

Fitz stayed silent for a moment then let out a huff. "And I'm honour bound to do the same. This is my village, and those are my people, I'll do whatever I can to protect them from any threat."

"I don't believe you," the woman glared. 

"Well, you're lucky," Fitz glared back and let go of her. "Because I know you're telling the truth." He looked back at his family. ”She's not lying, her heartbeat never fluctuated. Except for when I scared her."

Daisy scowled at him. "You didn't scare me."

"And then," he smirked. "Jemma I want you to gather the pack, bring them all in here, I have a plan."

Jemma left to gather the pack, as Fitz whispered to his father. When she brought them all in the room, Fitz wasn't there. She looked to Phil who gave her a simple smile that told her all would be well. 

"So," Fitz came back into the room with a large urn in his hands. "How do we earn some trust?"

"You can't," Daisy answered, a stone look on her face. "So you may as well kill me."

"I'm good for that," Hunter stepped forward.  
"No," Fitz crossed his arms over his chest and looked down at Daisy. "Killing people who don't deserve it is your job."

"Excuse me?" 

"You attacked us with no proof that we'd done anything wrong, only an ignorant belief that because of what we are, we're a danger," Fitz moved a chair in front of her and sat down. "But we'll move on from that, how many more did you do the same too? How many people did you hunt during the witch trials, how many were executed?"

"They all confessed," Daisy defended.

"Under torture," Bobbi countered.

Daisy gave her a blank look. "You say that like it matters."

"Of course it matters," Bobbi argued. "Everyone confesses under torture, guilty or not."

"I wouldn't."

"You would," Fitz broke in. "Because the more you deny the charges, the more you profess your innocence, the worse the pain gets. And all the while they promise you that it will stop if you confess. Just admit it, they say, and the pain will be gone. But you know that you can't confess to something you didn't do, confess and you'll be killed, that’s how they’ll end the pain. So you refuse, and the pattern repeats; torture, denial, more torture, until the pain is finally too much, and you break. Everyone breaks. After all, pain in its proper application can be a wonderful motivator, but it's a poor truth teller."

"Even so, you can't save everyone."

"I agree," Fitz nodded. "But I can try my hardest. And I think you can help with that."

"What?" Hunter looked at him. "You want her to join us?"

"I want to know what she knows," Fitz explained. “And if she has a way to stop these attacks, I’m more than willing to provide a little cooperation. What I don’t want is to be fighting a battle on two fronts, wearing ourselves out dealing with her while the real threat gets stronger and kills more people. So," he looked back to Daisy. "If you're a werewolf in this room, put your hand up."

Fitz, Bobbi, and Mack all rose their hands. "If you're a supernatural being of any kind, hand up." Jemma, Davis, Piper and Hunter's hands joined the rest.

"Alpha, Beta, Beta," he pointed to each as he spoke. "Banshee, Kanima, Chimera, and…Hunter," Fitz trailed off. "We don't really know what he is."

"And this matters why?"

"Transparency," Fitz continued. "I'm being honest with you, and hoping that'll earn a little faith."

"And how do I know there aren't more of you?" Daisy asked.

"Because I'm telling you there aren't. This is it, my entire pack," Fitz raised his hands. "This is already more than you saw in the forest."

"One more than you had in the forest," Daisy jerked her chin at Mack. "Where was the big guy anyway? Doesn't seem like the type you'd want to leave behind if you're dealing with a threat."

"He was patrolling the village with Phil," Jemma answered. "The pack takes it in turns each night, especially now that a curfew has been instituted. Where were you when all those people were attacked?"

"My camp," Daisy answered. "I heard their screams, but the time I got there, it was too late."

"So you just waited there?" Jemma asked. "For what?"

"When I saw the bodies laid out like that," she shook her head. "I figured it couldn't be for nothing."

"You thought it was coming back," Fitz guessed.

"I did. I thought it might —" whatever she was going to say was cut off by the sound of bells tolling through the air. "What's that?"

"The warning bells," Phil said, moving to the door. "There's something wrong in the village."

"Another attack?" Daisy asked, rising to her feet.

"Probably," Fitz nodded. He watched as the woman worried her lip between her teeth, the gears turning in her head. "Come with us."

"What?" Daisy asked, along with Hunter, Davis and Mack.

"Come with us," Fitz said again. "Help us. I will swear on whatever you want, the bible, my mother’s grave, we want the same thing here, Daisy."

"No, no, we don't," Hunter argued. "She wants us dead, and, maybe I'm only speaking for myself, but I want very much to live."

"I'm in," Daisy said, as the tolling echoed louder and louder. "Get me out of these chains."

Phil stepped forward and unlocked Daisy's chains as Fitz started barking out orders. "Jemma, I want you to stay here prepare the surgery, Piper, help her."

"On it," Jemma called over her shoulder as the pair rushed down the stairs, there was a lot to get ready.

"Dad, Daisy, I want you two to hang back, just in case whatever's doing this is still around."

"Then what was the point in freeing me?" Daisy asked, keeping pace with Fitz's frantic steps as they made their way outside.

"Asking myself the same thing," Hunter glared pushing in front of her. "You make a move to harm any one of us-"Bobbi covered his mouth, smothering the rest of his threat in the palm of her hand.

"I'm not saying don't help," Fitz looked at her. "I'm saying your priority is the people, direct them away, lead them to safety, let us take the lead with the Beast. We can heal, you and dad don't."

"We'll try and direct people into the church," Phil instructed. "It has the most room and the best walls in case of an attack."

"Got it," the woman nodded.

"Help!" a voice shouted from the path ahead of them. It was a man staggering towards them, a body draped over his shoulders. "Help me, please, my son."

He fell to his knees under the weight as the pack approached, clutching at his son. "Let us take him," Fitz said gently. "My wife is a healer, she'll do all she can for him."

The man nodded, and Mack stepped up, scooping up the young man and racing back to the manor. Jemma had just sent Piper to take the water off the stove when he burst in. She looked up at him in surprise, she didn't think the pack would be using their full speed, not with everything going on. "He's still alive," Mack said.

That was an even bigger shock. "Put him on the table," she said quickly. “Piper! Get in here!"

*

Fitz arrived back with the young man's father ten minutes later, supporting the man as he shook with each step. They sat him down in a big armchair in the drawing room, and Fitz called for Mack. "I need you to get the valerian tea ready," he said as soon as the big man entered the room. 

Mack took one look at the father's pale face and chattering teeth and nodded, he'd seen men like this before. "I'll brew a whole pot."

"Quick as you can please," Fitz turned back and crouched in front of the man. "Sir, can you tell me your name?"

He looked at Fitz with hollow eyes. "My son?"

"He's here," Fitz replied calmly. "He's being treated by my wife. What's his name, your son?"

"Connor."

"A good strong name, for a good strong lad," he nodded. "What were you and Connor doing tonight, sir?"

"We were," the man took a deep breath. "We were - oh, God, my son. My son, please."

"Alright, it's okay," Fitz caught the man as he pitched forward and held him. "It's alright, Sir, just try and breathe."

Fitz held the man, for how long he had no idea, when Mack finally came in with the teapot, a mug already poured. "Here," Fitz directed the man back into the chair and pressed the cup into his palms. "Drink this, it's tea. It will help calm you."

A knock came at the door, and Jemma poked her head in. "Fitz, I need to speak with you."

He nodded and looked at Mack. "Will you?"

"I'll stay with him," Mack nodded and placed a large, comforting hand on the man's shoulder as he slowly sipped at the tea.

Fitz met Jemma out in the hall, and his stomach turned at the sight of her. Her dress was covered in blood, her hands stained with it as they twisted in the fabric. "You're not here to give me good news I take it."

She shook her head. "All I can do is make him comfortable, and I'm afraid that may even that may take a miracle."

"I have a way," he said, starting towards the surgery.

"What?" Jemma followed. "How?"

"You'll see."

Piper was dabbing at the young man's, Connor's forehead with a cloth when he entered. "Piper, go get cleaned up," Fitz said, taking in the grim sight. "Sit with Mack and his father, see if you can get him talking, when it feels appropriate."

She nodded and rose from the stool. "Do we know their names?"

"His name is Connor," he gestured to the young man on the table. "That's about all his father's been able to say."

"Alright," she nodded and pressed the cloth into Jemma's hand. "I'll see what I can do."

Fitz sat down on the stool Piper vacated and took hold of Connor's forearm. "What are you doing?" Jemma asked.

"I'm going to take away his pain," he answered.

"What do you mean?"  
"Just watch," he nodded and tightened his grip on the young man's arm. Jemma watched as the veins in Fitz's hand turned black and flowed up into his arm before disappearing. He winced but maintained the contact as Connor's breathing eased. 

"That's amazing," Jemma breathed in awe.

"Yeah," he sighed, letting go. "But it won't heal him."

Jemma sat down gently on his lap. "It won't," she agreed, wrapping her arms around him and leaning her head against his shoulder. "But you've made his final moments more peaceful, that means something Fitz."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading.
> 
> Historical Note: The idea that silver bullets (or arrows in this case) can be used to kill a werewolf is attributed to Jean Chastel. He is the hunter who is credited with killing the Beast of Gévaudan, and claimed that he did with silver bullets and the legend lived on.


	10. Chapter Ten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys I'm back with another chapter! Sorry about the delay with this one I'm on vacation with some friends and there just hasn't been time. Hope you enjoy!

Fitz didn't know how long they sat there together, listening to Connor's breathing. It could have been minutes; it could have been hours until finally, the young man let out one last rattling breath. Jemma leaned forward and placed a hand on his chest, feeling for a breath, a heartbeat, but there was none. "He's gone," she sat back against Fitz and ran a hand over his shoulders.

He cleared his throat and pinched the bridge of his nose. "We should go and tell his father."

Jemma placed her forehead against his temple and nodded her agreement. Pulling back, she placed a kiss to where her forehead had been and rose to her feet. Fitz didn't move, he just sat there, looking at Connor's body. "You did all you could, Fitz," she said. "We all did, but he was too far gone by the time he got here."

"I know," he looked down at his hands. "I just…"

"Want it all to stop," Jemma finished.

"Yeah," Fitz looked up at her and shrugged. "I don't know what to do, Jemma."

"We'll figure it out," she reached down and took his hand in hers. "Together."

"Promise?"

"I promise," she smiled sadly and pulled him to his feet.

They made their way back inside and headed to the drawing-room to deliver the sad news. Jemma had just reached out her hand to open the door when Fitz stopped her. He placed a finger to his lips, a signal for her to stay quiet, and opened the door only a crack; now she could hear Phil's voice as it filtered out of the room. "…doing all they can for your son, I promise you. Now, please Rowland, can you tell us what happened tonight?"

Jemma took this as a good sign so far, Phil being back must have meant that the village was secure, at least for now. And he had gotten the man, Rowland, talking, maybe they'd finally get something out of this.

"We were fishing," Rowland began, Jemma could hear the hitching in his breath as he struggled to stay calm.

"This late at night?' Hunter cut in. "Don't you know there's a curfew?"

"We're not from here," the man responded. "We didn't know. We were just passing through on our way to Edinburgh."

"So after a day of travelling, you stopped for the night," Phil continued the man's story. "Do a spot of fishing, eat some supper, maybe smoke some for the rest of the journey south."

"Yes," the man sobbed. "And then, that…that…Creature came out of the trees."

"What did it look like?" Phil urged.

"You'll think me mad," Rowland scoffed.

"I assure you, Rowland, we won't, but we do need to know what you saw."

"It was a beast," the other man choked on the word. “A massive, hulking thing, like nothing I've ever seen before. It was all black, and eight feet tall at least, with glowing blue eyes, so bright they were nearly white. And its mouth, sharks have less teeth. It came straight for us like it knew we were there, like —" 

"It'd been tracking you," Phil finished. "Did it walk on two legs or four?"

"On two like a man, at first," Rowland answered. "But when I told Connor to run it gave chase, and moved on all fours like a dog, it must have leapt thirty feet in one bound. What animal can do this?"

"We'll find out," Phil assured. "What happened next?"

"You know what happened!" He cried.

"We know the end," Phil soothed. "But we need to know what happened in between, please, Rowland."

"Connor fell," the man gasped. "The Beast was upon him in an instant. I ran back, but I had no weapon, I just stood there as that thing mauled my son."

"You ran back for him," Bobbi hushed. "Not every father would be so brave."

"I grabbed a branch off the ground," Rowland sniffled. "I threw it at the animal as hard as I could. It seemed to startle it off, so I grabbed Connor and pulled him away to a thicket of trees. It charged at us, but then it just stopped."

"What do you mean it stopped?" Phil asked.

"At the tree line," Rowland explained. "It charged, but as it drew level with the trees, it stopped, like something had pulled it back. Then it left, I gathered up Connor and carried him to the village."

"And when you raised the alarm, they sent you to us," Phil finished. 

"Yes," Rowland gasped out and then pitched himself forward, sobbing onto the other man's shoulder.

Fitz and Jemma came into the room then as Phil wrapped his arms around the broken-hearted man. He looked up at them, the question clear in his eyes, how was the boy? Jemma shook her head in reply. He nodded at them and waved the rest of the pack out of the room, as he braced himself to break the tragic news to Rowland.

*

It took hours, but they'd finally got Rowland calmed down enough to sleep, assisted by a small dose of laudanum, Jemma had on hand. Making sure he was settled in one of the manor's bedrooms, she joined the pack in the drawing-room as they discussed what the man has seen.

"So are we still thinking this is a werewolf?" Hunter asked. "I've never heard of one changing into anything that looks like that before. I thought that was only his type," he gestured at Davis. "That did that."

"I heard of something like it before," Jemma said, sitting on the arm of Fitz's chair. "A shapeshifter is bound by certain laws, and sometimes the shape you take —"

"Reflects the person within," Fitz continued. "If a person has vengeful, even monstrous intentions as a human-"

"Then they'll take the shape of a real monster when they shift," Jemma finished. 

"It's freaky how you two do that," Hunter remarked.

Jemma ignored him and looked to her father-in-law. "So where do we go from here?"

"We'll have to call a hunting party," Phil said. "The village will demand it soon enough, so we may as well get ahead of that. One of us, at least, will head up each group, take a section of the forest."

"What about me?" Daisy asked. "I want to help."

"You will," Phil smiled at her. "This won't be as simple as taking down a normal werewolf. We have our research, but it comes from other beings. Do hunters keep records, Daisy, diaries, or anything of the like?"

"Yes," she answered. "I have my family's bestiary."

"Bestiary?" Hunter gave a sly grin. "Ain't that against a whole lot of everything that your lot stands for?"

"No, Hunter," Fitz rolled his eyes at his friend. "A bestiary is a book, one full of information about all types of supernatural beings. Not…that; though I am impressed you sort of know the word."

"I also," Daisy glared at Hunter. "Have my mother's journal; she's hunted all over China and Europe, so there may be something in there as well."

"And where are these books?" Phil asked.

"At my camp," Daisy answered. "I set myself up in a cave in the woods."

“Piper, go with her," Phil ordered. "I want you to bring all your things back here; we'll get a room ready for you. Then, tomorrow, you'll start going over them with Jemma and Fitz looking for anything may be relevant to us."

"Sounds like a plan," Daisy rose feet and headed out of the room with Piper.

"So we're really going to trust her, just like that?" Hunter asked. "She could kill us all in our sleep."

“And any one of us could kill her in hers. Sometimes you have to have a little faith," Phil shrugged. "We'll make the announcement about the hunting party tomorrow afternoon at the tavern. I want two of us down there early to gather everyone. For now, we should all get some rest."

"That's likely," Hunter jibed.

Bobbi pushed him out of the room, calling a good night over her shoulder, while Mack went to the kitchen to make sure everything was put away for the night. Jemma and Fitz slowly made their way up the stairs hand in hand. 

"Do you think Daisy's books will prove useful?" she asked.

"I hope," he shrugged as they entered their room. "It's a perspective we don't have. But we have no way of knowing until we look at them. Dad's right, if the beast is anything at all like Rowland said, then this won’t be easy."

"At least we know that it's vulnerable to rowan wood," Jemma said. "We should get good supply ash going."

"What we really need is to find out who it is."

"Maybe it's someone John Garrett turned?" she asked. "You said you weren't sure if you'd found them all."

"Maybe," Fitz nodded and leaned against the desk. "It's something to keep in mind for sure."

Jemma let out a breath and scrubbed at her forehead, it was all so frustrating, so sad. Fitz opened his arms, and Jemma stepped into them, winding her own around his waist. "Do you regret it?" Fitz asked, combing his fingers through her hair. "Agreeing to marry me? Coming here, having to live here with all this chaos and tragedy?"

"When my parents first told me, I thought it would be my biggest regret," she answered, digging herself deeper into his chest. "A life as the wife of an Alpha and his pack, I thought I would become little more than a toy for you all to sharpen your teeth on."

"Hey," he intoned.

"But," she soothed, looking up at him. "Since the moment I arrived, since the moment I met you, I've been happy. I am happy; I love you, it just…"

"Feels terrible to feel like that, given all that's happening," Fitz finished.

She nodded against him and tightened her hold on his waist. "We'll figure it out, Fitz, I know we will."

*

"Jemma had an idea last night," Fitz started the next morning as the last of the pack made their way into the dining room.

"Are we sure we want to hear this?" Hunter asked. "I have no intention of knowing what you two consider pillow talk."

Bobbi smacked him upside the head and looked at Jemma. "What idea?"

"John Garrett," she started. "Fitz told me the first night I was here, that you all had no idea what happened to all of his betas."

"He killed them," Hunter argued. "All of them. We found their bodies."

"No, we don't know that for sure," Davis said, leaning in. "Keep going Jemma."

"Then there's also the mystery man who was helping him, the druid, maybe that was just a rouse, maybe he’s a werewolf too,” she continued. "I think, if we devote some resources into looking into Garrett's past, then maybe we can figure out who the Beast is."

"Is that what we're calling this thing then?" Daisy asked. "'The Beast?'"

"Got a better name?" Fitz shrugged.

"It's a good idea," Phil said, bringing the topic back around. "It could be a beta out for revenge."

"How is something this powerful a beta?" Piper asked. "Are we sure it isn't an Alpha."

"No," Phil answered. "We aren't sure about anything right now. But Rowland said that the eyes were so bright blue, not red, and blue means beta."

“Yeah, a beta who's killed someone," Daisy said.

"I think it's safe to attribute all the recent deaths on The Beast," Phil advised. "So the colour of its eyes comes as no surprise."

"I think we should divide and conquer," Bobbi put in. "Jemma and Daisy will stay here and go through the bestiaries and the journals. Garrett said he was coming up from Glasgow, two of us should start heading that way, see if they can pick up any trail of him, anything about him at all."

"Me and Piper can handle that," Davis volunteered as Piper nodded beside him. “We’ll leave tomorrow after the hunt.”

“What about the hunting parties," Bobbi looked to the Sheriff. "How do you want to divide that Phil?"

"We'll see how many people we have willing to come out with us," he answered. "I'm hoping to do two to a group of villagers, but we can do one per team if we have to."

"And if we come across the Beast?" Mack asked.

"We'll use our usual signal if you hear it get the villagers to safety and then find the pack."

"What signal?" Jemma asked.

"A high pitched whistle," Bobbi answered." Fitz made them, all the werewolves can hear it."

"Jemma, I trust you can get Daisy and yourself settled into the library?" Phil asked, raising from the table. "We have to get down to the village."

"Of course," she nodded and looked a the other woman. "Come with me."

The young woman rose from her seat and followed Jemma as she made her way up the stairs. It was going to be a long day.


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey Guys. Sorry for so long between updates, like I said in the previous chapter I was on vacation, and when I got home I had some things to do that left me with very little time for writing or editing. Yay home repair...NOT! That list of things to do is still there as one of the jobs turned into a much larger one than originally thought, so there may be another long wait but I'll try my best. Anyways hope you enjoy.

"You're not worried about keeping up appearances?" Hunter asked as Fitz doused his torch in the river. He could see just fine without it.

"No," he said. "I trust the others to keep their parties busy enough. Now follow me."

Very few people stepped forward when the pack announced the hunting party at the tavern. Ten men in all stepped up to volunteer, half of them went with Bobbi and Davis who would explore the westernmost part of the forest. Phil, Mack and Piper took the rest and searched the east, leaving Fitz and Hunter free to search the site of the massacre on their own.

"So what are we looking for," Hunter asked.

"All of the attacks centre around this area," Fitz explained. "So there's something about here that matters to the Beast, or the person underneath. So look for anything, a scent, footprints, remnants of a camp, I don't care, I'll take mouldy food scraps and soiled smallclothes at the rate we're going. At least it would be something."

"That's disgusting," Hunter wrinkled his nose.

"Just get looking," Fitz rolled his eyes.

They searched high and low, under ever bush and inside the hollow of every tree, but there was nothing. "Have you ever thought maybe this is all some kind of mass paranoia?" Hunter asked, leaning against a tree. "Maybe it's just a bear or something."

"A bear?" Fitz repeated. "Have you ever seen a bear in Scotland."

"Exactly my point," Hunter snapped his fingers. "We all think they've gone and died years and years ago right? No one in living memories ever seen one. So, maybe, one's found its way here, and with no idea what it is, everyone who's set eyes on it thinks it's a monster."

"So you think that what? That a bear just caught a ride on a boat up the Tay?" Fitz asked, raising an eyebrow in ridicule.

"Well, I don't hear you putting forward any ideas." Hunter defended. "We've been on high alert since those attacks started, patrolling the woods twice a day and still we've found nothing, no trace of another werewolf. Maybe we need to start thinking alternatives."

"All that means is that we're dealing with someone smart," Fitz said. "Because they know if we can catch their scent, then we can track them, and we can end them."

"So you think it's purposefully avoiding us," Hunter asked.

"Wouldn't you?" Fitz asked as he moved to inspect another bush. 

"I suppose. So how is he doing - Oi!" he cried as he crashed into Fitz's back. "What you doing? Why'd you —"

"Shush," Fitz hissed. "Can you hear that?"

Hunter took a breath and craned his neck to try and hear what Fitz so clearly could, but he heard nothing but his own heart pounding. He clenched his fists in frustration, why could his powers not just work, why did whatever the hell he was have to be so complicated. He was just about to give it up as a lost cause when his ears twitched. It was breathing, ragged and panting; it reminded him of a dog he had when he was a boy just before it —A roar ripped out of the bushes behind them, making them both jump.

They turned around as the Beast moved out from behind a thicket of alders; it was black as night, with muscles that threatened to rip right out of its skin. Its eyes blindingly bright, with razor-sharp teeth and gleaming claws. Neither man moved as they watched the creature come to a stop in front of them, taking in them, watching them, panting, calculating.

"That's big," Fitz said, his voice tight as he stared at the beast.

"Yup," Hunter agreed. "Are you ready?"

"Not sure," Fitz answered. "You?"

"I'm still me, so I'm going to go with no," he hissed back, flicking his hand out like he'd seen the wolves do countless times to ready their claws, but he still just had his chewed up fingernails. "Why the hell won't this thing work?"

"Well, hopefully, this will trigger it."

"What?" But he hadn't even finished getting the word out before Fitz charged forward, claws and fangs at the ready. "Oh, bloody hell," Hunter fumbled for the whistle around his neck and blew it as hard as he could. He stood, helplessly, as he watched his friend and the Beast collide, then his world went black.

Fitz groaned in pain, as the Beast tossed him into a tree with one swing of its massive arm. He hit the ground with a thud and saw stars behind his eyes, pushing himself up onto all fours he looked up to see where the creature was. It was stalking towards him, snarling and snapping it monstrous teeth at him when a ball of fire crashed into it from the side, toppling the Beast back.

He shook the fog from his head, and clambered to his feet, looking at the fray before him. Hunter was holding his own well, but the Beast was massive, and Fitz knew that his friend wouldn't be able to keep the fight up for long. Taking a deep breath, he rushed the scene, jumping on the hulking werewolf's back and sinking his claws into its neck. The Beast thrashed about under the double attack and reached up, grabbing tightly to Fitz's arm, and tossing him away again. It swiped out at Hunter as well, catching him across the face, but it was like the man didn't even feel it as he sunk his own claws deep into the Beast's chest.

Fitz leapt at the werewolf, both his hands interlocked into a giant fist, and struck the Beast across the face as hard as he could, for whatever reason that got a reaction. The monster picked Hunter up and slammed the man into the ground, leaving him in a deep crater then it turned on Fitz. The Beast seized Fitz by his throat, lifting him off the ground. Fitz clawed at its large wrist, trying to get it to release him as the Beast brought him closer and closer to its razor-sharp teeth. The snap of a twig made creature turn its head to the side, then it tossed Fitz away like a dirty rag, took off on all fours into the trees. 

Fitz panted as he lay on his back, the rest of the pack made their way out of the tree line. "What were you thinking taking that thing on?" Mack asked as he tugged Fitz feet, while Bobbi and Davis tended to Hunter. "Did you really think you could beat it?"

"No," Fitz gritted his teeth and leaned against a tree to catch his breath. "I was thinking I could get its scent."

"And did you?"

He grinned up at them and jerked his head to the west. "That way."

*

The scent led them to a small cottage at the very edge of the forest. "It's the Gill place," Davis said when he saw it. "He's a carpenter, right?"

"Woodcutter," Fitz corrected. "And dear old Edward has quite the temper, we've had him in our cells more than once for violent altercations."

"Fitz," Bobbi worried her lip. "Didn't we arrest him once for attacking the cobbler?"

Fitz nodded and headed back into the trees, the pack trailing behind him. 

"If he's this Beast, why are we walking away?" Hunter demanded. "Let's go in there and drag him out."

"And do what with him?" Fitz asked, hands on his waist. "He just about killed us. We need to think."

"You think too much."

"And you don't think enough, so we're even," Fitz glared. "We don't want to spook him, and we don't want to get him angry. Triggering a turn won't be good for any of us, and we need to come up with precautions in case he does."

"In case who does what?" Fitz turned at the sound of his father's voice. "What have you found?"

"And what the hell happened to you two," Piper added in as they joined the group, taking in Fitz and Hunter's torn, blood-stained clothes.

"We ran into the Beast," Fitz started. "I was able to catch a scent."

"And?" Phil encouraged.

"It led us to Edward Gill's cottage."

"Edward," Phil sighed. "Piper, go to the manor, start prepping one of the rowan wood cells."

"You have a plan?" Fitz asked his father as the man started towards the cottage.

"No need," Phil called over his shoulder. "Edward owes on his taxes. I've been letting him slide because of his son. But maybe it's time we go collect."

"And if he turns?" Davis asked.

"Then you put as much toxin into him as you possibly can and get me the hell out of there," Phil called over his shoulder as he approached the cottage.

Phil knocked loudly on the door, Fitz could hear shuffling within, and after a few moments, the door opened a crack. A young face peeked through, a boy, no more than fifteen. "Yes?" he asked.

"Donnie," Phil smiled gently. "I need to speak with your father, is he in?"

The boy looked past Phil, his eyes racking over the rest of the pack, or to him the entirety of the Sheriff's deputies. "What did he do now?"

"Who's at the door, boy," a voice barked from within the cottage. Donnie jumped about a foot in the air, as the door was ripped open of his hands. Edward towered over his son, glaring out at Phil. "What do you want?"

"You're behind on your taxes, Mr Gill," Phil spoke calmly at the giant of a man. "I've given you as much time as I could to make up the money, and now I've come to collect."

"Taxes," the man sneered down at Phil. "What do taxes do but make a rich traitor more rich, I ain't paying."

"Dad," Donnie started.

"Shut up, boy," he snarled and shoved his son behind him. "Get off my land."

"Edward, you know I can't do that," Phil explained. "If you can't pay, then I have no choice but to place you under arrest."

"I ain't going with you," Edward barked. "Get out of here."

Phil gave a jerk of his head, and Mack and Fitz pushed through the front door.

"Get out of my house," Gill protested, shoving at them as they drew nearer. "I ain't going."

"Mr Gill, please," Fit started as the man moved through the cottage. "We don't want this to get rough."

"The only one getting roughed up here is you lot," Edward said, shoving his son into them and bolting to the back of the house.

Donnie tumbled to the floor as Mack let out a burst of speed and tackled his father to the ground. They twisted on the matted dirt until Mack was able to get the man into a headlock. "Calm down," he barked, as Edward continued to struggle against his hold. Fitz picked his way over Donnie and reared back a fist, slugging the man in the side of the head with just enough force to render him unconscious. Davis rushed in and scooped up the man's feet, while Mack grappled him under the arms. Together they heaved Edward off the ground and began the trek back to the manor.

Phil offered a hand to Donnie. "You alright, son?" he asked, pulling the boy off the ground.

"I'm fine," he replied, dusting himself off self off, looking anywhere but at the people in front of him.

"Donnie, I want you to gather up some things," Phil instructed. "You're coming back to the manor as well."

"What did I do?"

"Nothing," the older man shook his head. "You aren't in any trouble Donnie, it's for your safety."

"My safety?" Donnie wrinkled his nose. "I know the woods like the back of my hand, I'm plenty safe in them, Sheriff."

"I don't doubt that," Phil smiled. "But there's a killer on the loose. Please, to ease an old man's mind if nothing else."

The boy thought for a moment, then nodded. "Give me a couple minutes?"

"Of course," he nodded. "Fitz and Bobbi will wait for you. I promise we'll get this all sorted."

Phil turned on his heels and gave the waiting pair a look, then left the cottage. Bobbi waited outside, her ears open for any potential threats, while Fitz moved through the room to hurry Donnie along.

*

"So," Jemma said as Fitz entered their bedroom that night. "I hear we have a house guest."

"Two actually," he sat down on the bed with a groan, it had been a very long night. "Edward Gill and his son, Donnie. Dad told the boy he brought him here for his protection, but I think it's to get more information about his father."

"Davis was saying."

"Are he and Piper still going in the morning?" He had tried to talk them out of their trip, but both had been adamant that they still wanted to go before he went in to speak with Edward.

"They are," Jemma answered. "Piper had me help her gather some medical supplies. I think they just want to be thorough. Has Mr Gill said anything?"

"No," Fitz replied, clenching his fists. The man hadn't spoken a word since he came too, just glared and spat at them when they dared enter the cell.

"But you're certain it's him?"

"The Beasts scent was all over grounds of the cottage," he began, clenching his fists tighter into his palms. "There's no one else it could be, it has to be him. It needs to be him, this has to end."

"Fitz," Jemma placed a hand on his. "Fitz, stop it."

Fitz looked their hands, blood was leaking from between his fingers. He pulled his hands away from Jemma's and watched as his claws morphed back into his natural fingernails, turning his hands over and watched as the deep cuts in his palms healed in an instant. "Sorry," he breathed. He hadn't even realized he'd been doing it, it'd been a long time since he lost control like that. "I'm sorry, I just…"

"I know," Jemma grabbed his hand again and pressed a kiss to his temple.

"It has to be him, Jemma," he hung his head. "It has to."

She worried at her bottom lip, she'd never seen Fitz so distraught; she understood his worry of course, but she didn't quite know how to help him. Pressing another kiss to his temple, she leaned her forehead against it and slowly trailed her hand up and down his back. She felt the tense muscles twitch under her hand, it gave her an idea.

"Come here," she scooted up against their headboard. "Sit right here in front of me and face the wall, take your shirt off."

"Why?" Fitz asked, already moving. "What are you planning?"

"It's a surprise," she smiled as he settled in front of her. "Comfortable?"

"Yeah," he shrugged.

"Good," she rubbed her hands together to warm them up a little and then pressed them slowly onto the tops of his shoulders. She kneaded at them gently for a moment and smiled as Fitz's head dipped forward and he let out a long groan. Jemma moved on from his shoulders and pressed her hands down either side of his spine. She worked in silence for a time, with only Fitz's moans, groans, and the occasional hiss as she hit a particularly tight area, to guide her as he began to relax under her attentions. He finally spoke as she loosened a particularly stubborn knot beside his right shoulder blade.

"I don't know what it is you're doing, but feels amazing," he muttered as his head slumped forward more.

"It's a Far East practice. It supposed to soothe tight muscles, among other things," she explained and brought her hands up to his neck. "Not that I'm surprised you're so tense, with everything take on yourself."

"I have a responsibility," Fitz explained. 

"One you gave yourself," she supplied. 

"Jemma," he began, twisting in her arms.

Jemma wrapped her arms around him, keeping him in place and hooked her jaw over his shoulder. "I'm just saying, we're all here for you. Your father, the pack, me. We share this burden with you, Fitz," she pressed a line of kisses to his shoulder. "I meant what I said, we'll figure this out, together."

Fitz sighed and leaned back against her, cover her hands with his own. "Did you and Daisy find anything?"

"Not much, yet," she eased herself out from behind him. "But we've only just dug in, lots to go through still."

He nodded and pulled her into his arms as they settled against the pillows. "You know, when I first received your parents, and my Dad told me what it was about, I was hesitant to say yes. All I could think was that it was another life to look after, another person to be responsible for."

"Another potential threat to protect the village from," Jemma finished.

"Yes."

"So what changed your mind?" she craned her neck look at him the best she could.

"'She is clever, she is brave, and above all, she is truly kind,"" he began. "'We've had the honour of meeting a great many people in our lives, but we have yet to meet anyone who can hold a candle to our daughter when it comes to being so.' Their love for you poured out of every word they wrote. And so did their fear of losing you. I knew I had to do something."

"Well, I had my reservations at first too," she grinned as he chuckled underneath her. "But I'm glad you said yes."

"Me too," he gave her soft smile and leaned down as she stretched up to meet him in a gentle kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading.


	12. Chapter Twelve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG what are all those weird squiggly lines?!? Oh, Right, it's a new chapter! Hey guys sorry for the delay, real life has been non-stop since I got back from vacation, and my writing muse took a hit. It sucked to be so unmotivated to write or even edit a chapter, but things are better now thankfully. So without further ado here's the next chapter. Enjoy!

The next morning when Jemma arrived at the dining room for breakfast, she saw a young man standing in front of the serving table unmoving. "Good morning, Donnie," she greeted, making him jump.

"Uh," he turned to face her and stuttered. "Good, good morning."

"I'm, Jemma," she extended her hand in greeting. "Fitz's wife."

"I know," Donnie nodded, shaking her hand quickly. "It's not every day someone from the village gets married to an English girl."

"I suppose," she shook her head and gestured to the table. "Are you hungry, you're more than welcome to help yourself."

Donnie looked back between Jemma and the table. "I don't think I've ever so much food before," he confessed.

"Well," she came up beside him and passed the boy a plate. "I'd advise that you take your fill before the rest get down here, it's pretty slim pickings after that."

Jemma then set about filling her own plate while Donnie watched. 

"Work up an appetite last night did you, Love?" Hunter teased as he came into the room, also watching as Jemma filled her plate. 

She reached around Donnie and smacked the older man upside the head. 

"I mean," he looked at the boy and rubbed the spot Jemma had hit. "You should try the porridge, Don, with some dried berries and honey, it's delicious."

At their encouragement, Donnie slowly put some food on his plate as the rest of the pack filtered into the room.

"How did you sleep?" Phil asked as Donnie sat at the table.

"Not bad," he responded quietly, cautiously. "Thank you."

"And you found your way down, alright?" 

Donnie blushed. "It may have taken me a bit."

"How about I show you around after breakfast," Jemma offered. "I'm still new here myself, I know how daunting this place can be."

"That's a wonderful idea," Phil smiled at her. "Thank you, Jemma."

It was the quietest meal Jemma had eaten since she arrived at the Manot, but then again there was only so much they could talk about freely in front of Donnie. Smiling at the boy, she saw his empty plate, and pushed the rest of hers at him, she'd suspected he wouldn't take much, he likely never a choice in food before she knew, but she was determined that while he was here, he would not go hungry.

When he polished off her plate, Jemma beamed at him. "Are you ready?"

"Yup," he nodded and rose from the table.

"I'll meet you in the hall," she smiled gently and stood walking over to Fitz. "How long do you need me to keep him busy for?" she asked as the door closed behind the boy.

"His father is a stubborn man, it'll be a couple of hours at least," Fitz responded. "Maybe saddle up a couple of horses, take him for a ride?"

"Okay," she pressed a quick kiss to his cheek and looked table at large. "Good luck."

*

Jemma moved through the tour as slowly as she could, starting off in the grounds, taking Donnie through the gardens and all of the outbuildings. From there they went to the stables, he'd passed on going for a ride, he didn't know how, but they did spend plenty of time with the horses. Donnie ran his fingers through their manes and stroked down their muzzles while Jemma led them out to the paddock one at a time. Next came the grand house itself, she showed him her surgery, the kitchen and drawing rooms then took him directly from the dining room to his room and reverse. 

"And this is my favourite part of the whole house," Jemma beamed as she led the way up to the third floor and opened the door.

"Whoa," Donnie breathed as he stepped into the room.

"I know," Jemma grinned, she'd felt very much the same when she'd first seen it. "Do you read Donnie?"

He nodded. "My mother taught me."

"What do you like to read?"

"Whatever I can," he answered.

She smiled at him and led him over to one of the shelves. "I recommend this," she pulled down a thick leather-bound book. "It's a Roman story, I found it quite thrilling."

"I don't read Latin," he frowned.

"You don't need too," Jemma assured. "It's translated into English. It's a tale about a soldier, one of the last of his people, trying to find a new home, after war devastated his own."

"Thank you," he took the tome from her hands.

"There's a table right over there if you want to sit and read it," Jemma pointed, and Donnie went, his nose already buried in the pages. She smiled at the sight and grabbed a book of her own before she joined him at the table. 

They read in silence for a time, until the door to the library creaked open, jarring Jemma out of the world of fairies and comical mishaps and bringing her back to the library. Marking her page with a thin sheet of wood Fitz had carved for her, she smiled at him and Daisy as they slowly approached the table. Donnie was so engrossed with what he was reading he hadn't even noticed the pair enter.

"How's everything going," she asked quietly as she approached them.

Fitz shook his head. "Still nothing."

"If we went with my plan," Daisy rolled her eyes. "We'd have something by now."

"We aren't going to torture him," Fitz glared. "Has Donnie told you anything?"

"No," Jemma replied. "But it's not really something we've spoken about. We've been here reading mostly."

"Alright," Fitz nodded. "We're going to talk with him a bit, we know what questions to ask."

"Should I go?" 

"No," Daisy supplied. "What we're going to ask him, it won't be easy, you might be a comfort to him."

Fitz nodded his agreement and pressed a kiss to her cheek on his way to the table. "Donnie," he said softly as he approached. But the boy didn't respond. "Donnie," he said again a bit louder and laid a hand on his shoulder.

Donnie jumped at the contact and looked around wildly.

"Sorry," Fitz rose a hand apology. "Didn't mean to scare you."

"No," the young man blushed. "No, you, um, you didn't, I just…didn't hear you. Sorry."

"It's fine," Fitz sat down across from him. "Donnie, Daisy and I have a few questions we need to ask you."

"What about?" 

"About your father," Daisy started, taking the seat beside Fitz, while Jemma sat next to Donnie. "Have you noticed anything…unusual going on with him the last few weeks?"

"What do you mean unusual?" he raised an eyebrow.

"Coming and going at strange hours? Leaving the house in the middle of the night?" she continued. "That kind of thing."

"No, I mean sometimes he…" Donnie trailed off and bit his lip, looking between the pair.

"It's okay Donnie," Fitz assured with a warm smile. "You can tell us, we just want to help."

"It's not strange, not really," Donnie began. "I mean sometimes he doesn't come back from the tavern well after midnight, sometimes not at all."

"Alright," Daisy nodded. "Do you know where he stays when he doesn't come home?"

"The tavern I guess, or the street if he's owing."

"What about the cobbler?" Fitz asked. "We know the two of them had some issues a while back, your Dad landed in a fair bit of trouble because of it. Has he said anything about it recently? Has he been angry about it?"

"What does that have to do with anything?" Donnie crossed his arms across his chest.

"Donnie," Jemma soothed reaching a handout, but Donnie jerked away from her.

"You think he had something to do with the cobbler's boy?" Donnie scowled. 

"Donnie," Fitz started. 

"You think he's done all of this, don't you?" the boy continued. "All these murders, you think it was him."

"Please," Fitz tried again. "Donnie, if you would just."

"He didn't have anything to do with this."

"Donnie, you have to —"

"I don't have to do anything," the young man cut him off with a growl. "And the only thing usual of note the last few months, is you going off and marrying some English tart out of nowhere."

"You mind yourself," Fitz seethed pointing the finger at Donnie, while Jemma bristled at the insult. "Apologise, or we'll be finishing our conversation somewhere far different than in the comfort of the library."

Donnie frowned and looked over at Jemma. "Sorry."

"Now," Daisy cut in. "The cobbler's boy, Victor, was killed the night of the 23rd. Do you remember where your father was that night?"

Donnie shrugged and sat back down. "Safe money is on the tavern."

"And after that."

"Don't know," he dropped his head into his hands. "Home, I guess."

"You guess, or you know?" Daisy encouraged.

"I guess," he huffed. "I don't know, I don't always sleep at home."

The three shared a knowing look, and Fitz cleared his throat. "And where do you sleep on those nights?"

"Depends," Donnie shrugged. "Pastor Drummond lets me sleep in the pews sometimes. But don't like sleeping in the church that much, it smells funny. Most of the time, I just camp out in the woods."

"So you were camping out that night?" Daisy asked.

"Probably," Donnie admitted. "But that was was weeks ago, I can't remember, if it wasn't too cold or snowing, I was probably out there. Is that a crime now? Camping?"

"Of course not, Donnie," Fitz shook his head. "I know these questions are uncomfortable, but we —"

"Look, my Dad, he wouldn't do this," Donnie rose from the table again and started to the door. "I don't know why you think he's the one killing all those people, but he's not. He's got a temper sure, but he's not evil."

He left the library with a slam of the door. Jemma watched the door for a moment before turning to frown at the pair across from her. "Well, that went well."

*

Fitz stood outside relishing in the biting sting of the cold and watched as the snow started to fall to the ground. It had been a long, tiring day, and all he wanted to do was go to sleep, but his brain was making too much noise. At least the weather seemed to match his mood. He stayed there just watching as the snow began flying, lost in thought, until pair of arms wrapped around him from behind. "You missed dinner," Jemma observed gently, her voice muffled by his shoulder.

"I ate in the offices," he responded. "I had a lot of work to do, Bobbi brought me some food."

He felt her nod against him, as she tightened her hold around his middle. "Did you manage to get anywhere with Edward?"

"Not really," he grabbed one of her hands and pressed a kiss to it. "He's talking now at least but denying everything. Maybe Daisy makes a point, maybe we should apply a little force."

"You don't really think that, do you?" 

"No," he sighed. "But we're running out of options."

"You've had him in the cells for a day now, and there hasn't been another attack," she offered. "That's something right?"

"Only the Beast didn't strike every day," he pointed out.  
Jemma said nothing, so she pressed a kiss to his shoulder, to cover her silence. He was right, after all, the terror the attacks caused only made it feel like they occurred more frequently.

"How's the boy?" He asked after a moment.

"Quiet," Donnie had come down to dinner, but hadn't spoken a word, only glared at the plate as he attacked the food. "He seems to eat more than you and Piper, though, so we may want to prepare Mack for that."

"Now that's a talent," Fitz snorted.

"So why is my husband standing and brooding in the freezing cold?"

"It's not that cold out," he disagreed.

"It's snowing!" Jemma protested.

Fitz laughed a genuine laugh. "It's only going to get colder, you know. This is Scotland."

"Oh joy," she deadpanned and snuggled deeper into his warmth.

"Come on," he stepped out of her arms and turned back towards the house. "It's late, we should try and get some sleep."

By the time they got to their room the snow was coming down in fast, fat flakes. Jemma looked out the window and stared in amazement, she could barely see the garden hedges through the sheets of white. "I don't think I've ever seen it snow like this before."

Fitz came up beside her and wrapped an arm around her shoulder. "Both the Cleland's and the MacRae's are saying we're in for a terribly frigid and snowy winter."

"Who are they?" Jemma asked. "And why are they predicting such horrible things."

Fitz pressed a kiss the side of her head. "They're farmers, just outside the village. They claim that you can predict a season by whatever nature is doing the season before. They've been pretty accurate the last few years."

Jemma turned and wrapped her arms around him. "I guess it's a good thing my husband is always so warm. Stealing your body heat is probably the only way I'll survive until spring."

"Oh," Fitz grinned down at her. "I can think of plenty of ways to keep you warm."

 

"I'm cold now," she glanced up at him with a grin. "Care to show me any of those ideas?"

"Absolutely," Fitz scooped her up and walked them over to the bed, while Jemma laughed and clung tightly to him.

Fitz set her down at the edge of the bed and caught her lips in a heated kiss while their hands rushed to undo buckles and laces. When they'd finally stripped away the last of their clothes, Jemma ran her hands over his shoulders and down his spine. She nipped at his lower lip and dragged her nails along the path back up, while Fitz buried his face in her neck to muffle his groan. Not one to let her have all the fun he trailed his lips down her throat, sucking a teasing path to her chest until finally, his lips closed around one of her tawny nipples. Jemma moaned, as a zip of pleasure, went straight to her core. Fitz didn't linger for long at her breasts, much to her dismay, before he continued down her body, pressing kisses on his way.

"What are you doing?" she panted out, as his lips brushed over her hip.

"Something you'll like, I swear," he glanced up at her, as he settled himself between her legs. A blush crept up his cheeks. "Hunter told me about it when I accepted your parents' proposal, he says it never fails to get good results."

"Fitz…" Jemma trailed off unsure.

"If you don't like it, I'll stop, I swear," he pressed a gentle kiss to her knee. "But I'd like to try, please?"

She nodded and sunk back against the mattress, as Fitz placed her legs over his shoulders. He pressed a kiss to her inner thigh, then leaned forward and licked slowly from her opening to her clit. Jemma let out a squeal, and her heel thumped against his back involuntarily, as Fitz's tongue dipped inside her. He left no part unexplored, trailing over her lower lips, circling her clit, teasing at her opening. She threaded on hand into his hair and brought the other to her breast to tug at her nipple. "Don't stop," she moaned and ground her hips up against his questing mouth.

"Fitz," she groaned and pulled his head closer to her core. She could feel pleasure burning at her, but she needed something more. Like he could read her mind, Fitz pushed her thighs further apart, and licked up to suck clit into mouth, flicking with his tongue, he slipped one, then two fingers into her channel.

"Yes," she threw head back, mewling with every thrust his fingers. She could feel the pleasure building even faster, her thighs quivering uncontrollably, until with a final flick of his tongue against clit Jemma came strangled moan. Her body writhed against the bed as Fitz lapped at her until she flopped down on the mattress with a final groan.

Fitz kissed his way up body, and flopped beside with a sigh. "So?"

"I don't know if I should have you thank Hunter for me or run blushing from the room the next time I see him," Jemma giggled as she settled against his side. "You can certainly do that again at any time, though."

"Happily," he dropped a kiss on her hair.

"Although," she hummed and rolled on top of him, straddling his lap. "I'm not sure I'm quite warm enough yet."

"Oh," Fitz grinned. "Well, I guess we'd better do something to fix that."

Jemma moved down so his cock dragged through wet folds, and hissed when it bumped her clit. Leaning down she caught his lips in a hungry kiss as she reached between them to guide him inside her. She relished the stretch as her pussy adjusted to the intrusion. When he was fully sheathed inside her warmth, Jemma slowly started rocking back and forth, as Fitz's hands came up to her hips, helping guide her movements. She let their tongues tangle together as she leaned over him, sparks lighting behind her eyes as the pleasure built. She pushed herself up, bracing against Fitz's chest and the headboard as she rode him faster and faster, relishing in the noises he was wringing from her. 

"Show me," Fitz croaked out just as her thighs started to burn.

"What?" she watched as he brought his fingers to her clit and groaned. Laying her hand atop his, Jemma showed him the motions she like best. Fitz picked up on the rhythm right away, his rougher fingers felt even better than her own, and she felt the pleasure build more rapidly. Jemma cried out when the coil finally broke and pitched forward again, bracing against the headboard as bliss coursed through her. Fitz thrust up against her, his hands tight on her hips, pulling her down to meet him. It only took a few moments longer before he let out a strangled moan and released deep inside her.

They stayed connected, Jemma hunched on top of him, her face tucked against his collar, as their breath slowly returned normal. She climbed off him slowly, grimacing a little as he slipped out of her, and laid down beside him. Fitz rolled over to face her, one hand tucked under his pillow, the other reaching out to trace over her curves. They said nothing, just cuddled close together, trading soft kisses, until they drifted off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. No excuses really other than the usual, writer's block, IRL and the like. Hope you enjoy.

The days stretched on but so did Edward's silence. He'd been in the cells for over a week, but after his initial denial, the man went silent once more, refusing to do more than glare whenever one of the pack went in to question him. They could keep him indefinitely, of course, Edward was arrested on real charges he could be held until someone paid his debts or he revealed an undeclared asset that would cover the cost. But that still left Donnie, the boy was setting into the house just fine, but having him there was not a long term solution. The pack wasn't able to have the conversations they needed to with him about the house, and really there were lucky that neither Jemma nor Hunter had experienced one of their wonderings while he'd been staying with them. There were only two options; they could either tell Donnie what they really were, and risk their secret getting out sending the magistrates down on their heads, or find a way to get him out of the house, but still in a place where they knew he would be safe. Eventually, and surprisingly, it was Hunter who came up with the best solution; Donnie was a smart, talented boy, they had connections, they could use both and set him up as an apprentice somewhere. Fitz reached out to a blacksmith friend of his nearer to Edinburgh; they were just waiting on a response before they brought it up with Donnie. It was what was best for him really, and he'd be set for life. There was a sadness in the choice though, for Fitz and Jemma especially, both had grown close to the boy during his time at the manor.

Jemma spent the morning with Donnie in her surgery; he was helping her jar some herbs for her remedies while she explained the medicinal properties of each.

"Of course," she said as she put a jar of wood garlic away. "If your interest is more in horticulture you should talk with Davis when he gets back, he's our master gardener here."

"No," Donnie shook his head and passed over the next jar. "I mean learning how to grow them is useful, sure, but their properties are what interest me. I didn't know plants could do anything other than look pretty and occasionally be eaten. It's fascinating."

"I agree," she beamed down at him. 

A knock came, and Mack poked his head in. "There are some people out here to see you, Jemma." 

"I'll be right there," she stepped off the stool and dusted off her hands. "Thank you, Mack."

"I didn't know you were expecting people," Donnie looked down at his feet. "I didn't mean to take up so much your time."

"You didn't," she placed a hand boys arm and smiled gently. "They're not expected, it's just some villagers seeking treatment."

"Alright," he nodded. "I'll just head up to the library I guess, at least until Fitz gets back, he said he wanted to show me something in the forge." 

"Good," she walked him to the door. "I'll join later if I have the time."

"Ok," Donnie left with a wave while Jemma went to go see who had arrived.

It was dinner by the time she saw the last of them. A couple of tavern goers needed some stitches after a brawl; a thatcher needed his arm set after a slip off his ladder. The worst of it, one that sent eight people in to see her, was a severe cough, one she suspected was only going to get worse as the days went by. 

"There's a bad chest cold sweeping through the village," Jemma announced as she walked into the dining room. "You all need to be cautious with your interactions while on patrol. Don't touch your faces, and wash your hands frequently, especially before eating or drinking."

"Why?" Hunter asked around a mouthful of food.

"My father did a study once," she wrinkled her nose at him. "People who wash more frequently get sick less, especially when there is a contagion going around."

Hunter muttered something sounded like, quack, only to let out a yelp of pain, she assumed Bobbi kicked him under the table because the blonde smiled at her as she passed over a pitcher of wine. "Will do, Jemma, thanks."

"What did you wind up doing with the rest of your day, Donnie?" She asked the boy.

"Umm," he swallowed hard around his bite of sausage. "I read for a bit in the library; you were right 'A Midsummer Nights Dream,' by the way it's hilarious. Then Fitz and I went to the workshop; he showed me how to size and forge horseshoes when he got back from patrolling the village."

"Donnie's a natural," Fitz clapped the boy on the back.

"Thanks," he blushed.

"Well, in other news we've had a letter from Piper and Davis today," Phil said from then head of the table. "They should be back home within a week."

The group finished their meal and Hunter set about helping Mack clear all the dishes away, Jemma and Fitz headed up to their room. "Guys," Daisy called, coming up the stairs behind them. "Can I talk with you for a minute? In private?"

"Of course," Jemma while Fitz nodded. They led her through their bedroom and into Jemma's old room, which they'd converted into a study. 

"What's going on Daisy?" Fitz asked, sitting down in one of the chairs. 

Daisy sat down across from him on the sleigh bench and took a deep breath. "I had a thought, but it's not something you're going to like."

"That's never stopped you before," Fitz raised an eyebrow at her.

"I think we're holding the wrong Gill."

"Excuse me?" Jemma asked from her perch on the desk.

"What?" Fitz scoffed. "You're kidding me."

"I'm not."

"Daisy, I've seen that thing," Fitz started slowly. "It's massive, and it's angry. That's not Donnie, but it is Edward. Besides, there hasn't been a single attack since we arrested him."

Jemma bit her lip; she didn't want to mention what he said to her when she had brought up that same fact a few days before when he had his own doubts.

"Or," Daisy countered. "Has there not been an attack since Donnie's been staying with us."

"Donnie's not a hostage," Fitz argued. "He's free to leave at any time if he were the Beast why wouldn't he take the chance to flee when he had it."

"Because we're kind to him," Daisy explained. "He was angry because he has an abusive drunk for a father because he was likely beaten nearly every day of his life, made to feel worthless. Here, Donnie is safe and cared for and accepted. Here he's calm, what about when that changes, what about when you tell him about the apprenticeship when you tell him he's leaving? Even if he accepts that, what about what could happen in Edinburgh?"

"Daisy, stop it!" Fitz roared and sprang from his chair. "He's just a boy!"

"He's fifteen; he's not a child anymore!" Daisy barked back. "Twenty people are dead! Actual children! At the very least we need to talk with him more seriously as a suspect."

No one spoke after that, only Fitz's heavy breathing as he turned to face the window. "Daisy," Jemma began calmly. She could understand where the woman was coming from, the frustration she was feeling about the situation. But there was no way what she was saying could be true.

"Look, I know you've both gotten close to him," Daisy cut in. "And I'm not saying I want it to be him, but we're getting nowhere with Edward, it's an option we have to consider."

"What have you two found about stopping this thing?" Fitz asked, keeping his gaze firmly fixed out the window.

"Nothing solid," Jemma said as she shared a look with Daisy. "Or at least nothing different from how one would typically kill a werewolf."

"But we aren't dealing with a typical werewolf," Daisy finished. "So we aren't confident in the usual methods." 

"I have a couple more theories marked to research further; I'm going to do that tomorrow," Jemma walked over to him and placed a comforting hand on his arm. "I got derailed by patients today, but if you can keep Donnie out of the library tomorrow, I'll have time to do the research we need."

"Good," he turned and looked at them. "Because Daisy's, right."

"You agree with me?" Her jaw dropped open in shock.

"It doesn't mean I want you to be right."

"I don't want to be right," she insisted. "But unless Edward suddenly starts talking or eating the laced food, and something happens, I don't know what our other options are."

"I'll talk with Donnie in the morning," he sat slowly in his chair again. "I have a plan, meet me before breakfast, and we'll go over it together."

"Alright," Daisy rose from her seat. "I am sorry, have a good night."

Fitz let his stoic facade slip as soon as the door closed behind Daisy, dropping his head into his hands with a groan. Jemma sat down in his lap and stroked her fingers through his hair. "You know she has a point."

"I know."

"It doesn't mean she's right," Jemma insisted, pulling his head up to look him in the eye. "It's something we should check on, just to be safe, but it doesn't mean she's right about Donnie, she can't be. He's a good b- young man."

"Yeah, he is," Fitz croaked, and wrapped his arms tightly around her waist.

"So what's your plan?"

"I have no idea," he admitted. "But I have until morning to figure it out."

"We have until morning to figure it out," she corrected. 

Fitz gave her a small, sad smile. "Let's get planning shall we?"

*

After breakfast the next morning Fitz took Donnie to the workshop again. "You got horseshoes just fine," he said as he unlocked the door. "But I want to show you how to make hinges, I don't know who they got to make the hinges in this place, but they did awful. I've been replacing them when I have the time, but it's a long process."

"Looking forward to it," Donnie smiled.

When they entered the building and Fitz closed door behind them, Jemma snuck out from where she was hidden in the hedges. She carefully opened an urn of Rowan ash and poured a line of the blackened wood at the base of the door. Moving away slowly as to not break the line, she went back to her hiding place and waited with Daisy; they'd have their answer soon enough one way or the other.

Inside the workshop, Fitz watched as Donnie started the forge. He was careful and meticulous in his movements, thinking through each action before he took it. "Donnie," he sighed. "I wanted to talk to you about something, something to do with our investigation."

"Yeah?" the boy asked. "What can I do to help."

"You said you spend a lot of time in the forest, right?" 

He nodded. "I doubt anyone in the village knows it like I do."

"Then I need you to tell me, have you noticed anything strange out there in the last few months?" Fitz asked, leaning against the table.

"What do you mean by strange?" Donnie scratched his cheek. "Like signs of witchcraft and stuff? I don't even know what that would look like. Or if I'd even believe it if I saw it."

"Nothing quite like that," Fitz assured. "Just anything that makes it different from a typical day in the woods."

"No," he frowned. "Not really."

"No," Fitz repeated. "Or not really, there is a difference."

"There is something," the boy chewed at his lip. "But I wouldn't say it was strange; it's just not something that happens often."

"What was it?"

"It was a few months back; you know when McMillan, Borthwick and the rest were all at each other's throats," Donnie began.

Fitz nodded along, a dispute between the two groups of friends was the cover they used in the village when Garrett's betas were on the loose. "I remember what happened?"

"I had a …argument with my dad," Fitz took this to mean his father had hit him. "So I took a walk to clear my head, did a spot of fishing, lit a fire, I was going to settle in for the night."

"And then?" Fitz encouraged.

"As I said, it's not unheard of," he said. "A man came out of the woods, asked to warm himself by the fire."

"And you agreed?"

"I didn't see the harm," Donnie shrugged.

"Alright, then what happened?"

"Nothing," he continued. "He sat down. We chatted a while about this and that; how the fishing was in the area, what the village was like, how many days walk we were from Edinburgh, where he was headed. He asked if I was planning to stay out all night, and offered up a drink, a tonic for the cold as a thank you for letting him stay."

"A tonic?" Fitz repeated. "And you drank it?"

"Yeah," Donnie nodded. "I didn't want to offend him; it only tasted like water, I think whoever sold it to him cheated him a bit."

"Did the man drink any of it at all?"

Donnie frowned in thought. "No, I don't think so."

"Do you remember his name?"

"I don't think he ever said," Donnie answered. "I don't think I told him mine either so, does it matter?"

"Did you see his face?" Fitz reached for paper and charcoal. "Do you remember what he looked like?"

"He was tall, had a square jaw. He wasn't young, but he wasn't old either. I think he had brown hair."

"I need more detail, Donnie," Fitz sketched out the general shape the boy described. "The shape of his nose and his eyes, how far apart they were, things like that. I need you to remember him in as great a detail as you can, and I'll draw what you say. Alright?"

"Yeah, I guess," he came to stand behind Fitz's shoulder. "Do you think it could be something?"

"A stranger passing through our forest just before all these attacks started, I think it could be something."

Fitz sketched as Donnie gave him detail after detail, correcting small details as the boy remembered more and more. "That's him," Donnie declared after more than an hour of drawing. "That's the man."

Fitz nodded. "Donnie, I think we have to put the hinges on hold for today. I want to get this face out to the village, see if anyone knows him, I need to make an engraving for that, and it's not really something you can help with."

"Ok, I'll go to the kitchens, Mack said he'd show me how to make a few simple things."

"Good," he smiled and led him over to the door. "I'll see you later."

"See you, Fitz," Donnie opened the door to leave, but tripped back into the workshop and fell to the ground with a surprised yelp.

Fitz froze as Donnie picked himself up off the ground. Jemma came in and crouched next to the boy. "Are you alright, Donnie?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," he got up and dusted himself off. "I'm not sure what happened though."

"The grounds a little uneven there," Fitz cleared his throat. "Another thing on my long list of things to fix, sorry about that."

"I can help," he offered. "If you need it."

"Good," Fitz gave a tight smile. "Then we have something to do tomorrow."

"Sounds good," he grinned and left without issue this time, the broken line of ash trailing on the ground behind him. Fitz and Jemma could only share a pained look as they watched him walk into the house.

*  
"…the man gave him a tonic of some type and went on his way," Fitz relayed what Donnie had shared with him to the pack as they gathered in the library. "That's all he remembered. You were right though Daisy, it's Donnie. He's the Beast."

"We don't know that for sure," Bobbi said. "We just know he's something supernatural."

"I know what you're trying to do Bob," Fitz grimaced. "And I appreciate it, but let's be honest with ourselves here. It's the only thing that fits."

"So what do we do now?" Hunter asked. "Kill him?"

"No," Fitz insisted. "Look, I know it sounds odd, but I don't think Donnie knows what he is, I don't think he's in control."

"Is that even possible?" Daisy asked.

"Well, Hunter has no idea what he is," Fitz offered. "And he doesn't control when he turns either."

"But he knows he's supernatural, he knows what happens to him," she countered. "Plus hasn't killed over a dozen people."

" _He_ is right here," Hunter cut across. "And I wasn't always aware. I'd fall asleep and change and have no memory of it at all. I had no idea something was going on until I started waking up in strange places completely naked."

"I'm more curious about this tonic that Donnie drank," Jemma pipped up. "Sure it could have been some nostrum the stranger was duped into buying, but could it have triggered something? Maybe Donnie has some latent supernatural powers that were dormant until he drank whatever was in the bottle."

"I've never heard of supernatural abilities be triggered by a drink," Fitz shook his head. "Sure, there are potions and poisons that are real, but not something that actually turns someone."

"Wait a minute," Daisy reached for a stack of journals on the table. "There's something in one of these, I know it."

"What are we looking for?" Jemma asked, picking up another book. 

"I'll know it when I see it?" the other woman muttered as she grabbed another book. "Here! I remember this one; my mother warned me about it when she was teaching me to gather resources in the woods. It says that if someone drinks rainwater from the paw print of wolf, under the light of a full moon, then they'll become a werewolf."

"What, it doesn't say that," Fitz took the book from Daisy's hands and read. "It really says that."

"Some hunters believe that's how the first werewolf was created," Daisy relayed. 

"And the church says it is the punishment for not going to confession for ten years," Fitz countered. "It's superstitious nonsense."

"Hate to break it to you, mate," Hunter leaned back in his chair. "But according to a lot of people, so are we."

"So what," Fitz paced the room. "Some random person decides to test out a theory on a complete stranger. What for? Fun?"

"Unless he knew it would work," Jemma offered. "Maybe this stranger has first-hand experience with it; maybe he's a werewolf who was changed that way."

"To what end, though?" Fitz asked. "Who would do this to a child? And how does a good young man Donnie, turn into such a monstrous thing?"

"Maybe Donnie isn't the one in control," Jemma suggested. "Maybe that's a part of it if someone feeds the rainwater to a person maybe they become its Alpha or master or something."

"So what they wanted a pet?" Hunter scoffed. "Nothing like an eight-foot-tall, rampaging monster to fill that void."

"Or to create chaos," she suggested. "With one of the most unassuming suspects."

"I don't know," Daisy broke in. "Are we sure Donnie isn't in control? He has a lot of anger in him, whether we want to acknowledge it or not."

"Anger triggers the shift in new werewolves, even ones who are born," Jemma explained. "We've gotten Donnie angry since he got here, more than once. Remember when you asked him about his father being the Beast, he was ready to take our heads off. If he were only just turned, he would have shifted. There's no doubt about that."

"Plus," Bobbi broke in. "We'd be able to sense it."

"What do you mean?" Daisy asked.

"Werewolves give off a scent," Fitz explained. "At least when they're new, after a few years you learn to mask it, hide in plain sight even amongst your own kind, but it takes time. Donnie's smart, but he wouldn't have had enough time to learn how to do it."

"So someone's controlling this," Daisy agreed. "To create chaos is one theory, and it's fine for now, but we still need to figure out who."

Fitz tapped the sketch he had made. "I'm going to make an engraving with this; we'll use that to make posters and circulate them in the village, see if anyone knows who this man is. It's our best lead right now."

"We also," Daisy grabbed Fitz arm and stopped him from leaving. "Need to talk about a plan to stop Donnie if he turns again."

"You mean kill him," Fitz glared. "I'm not going to kill a child."

"You need to stop thinking of him like that," Daisy said. "I know it's hard, and he might not be the one in control, but he's still dangerous, you can't place his life over the lives of the whole village."

"We're not going to kill him!" Fitz stormed out of the room. He went to his workshop and grabbed the sheet of copper and set to work, making his engraving. The sooner they figured out who the stranger Donnie met in the woods was, the better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	14. Chapter Fourteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, look an update. Sorry its been so long between updates recently, I'm working on it but time to write and muse have not been cooperating. Enjoy!

The morning after they made their discovery about Donnie, Jemma found herself walking to the offices with a pit in her stomach. Fitz hadn't come to bed the night before, nor down to breakfast that morning and she was worried. She checked everywhere she could think of for him, his workshop, the library, and more, but had come up empty each time. The offices were her last bet before she'd have to turn to the pack for help. He'd been so angry when he left the library the night before, she couldn't help but be worried what state he'd be in when she finally found him. Biting her lip, Jemma opened the door to the last room in the wing and sighed at the sight that met her eyes. Dozens of posters hung around the room drying, Fitz himself was slumped over the printing press, fast asleep, a paper loaded in the tympan ready to be pressed. 

Jemma took one of the posters off the line and looked as the stranger stared back at her. How could one man do so much damage? To what end? What was he trying to achieve by turning Donnie into that monster? Hanging it page back on the line, she walked over to her husband and placed a hand on his shoulder. Fitz woke up with a start. "Sorry," she rubbed at his shoulder as he blinked rapidly. "I just wanted to see how you're doing."

"I'm okay," he groaned and rubbed at his eyes. "Is it morning already?"

"Has been for a few hours now," she smiled at him. "You missed breakfast."

"I wanted to get these done," he gestured to the posters. "I got so wrapped up in it, I guess I didn't realize how tired I was."

"Yesterday was stressful," she said as she brushed a curl off his forehead. "I wish you'd made it to bed though, we could have talked about it."

"Sorry," he sighed, pressing his forehead against hers. "We can talk about it now if you'd like?"

"I hate this," she started. "He doesn't deserve this."

"No, he doesn't," Fitz agreed, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "And to be completely unaware of it, of the horrors he's done, I can't even imagine."

"Any idea what we do now?" she asked. Fitz shrugged his shoulders as his stomach let out a rumble. Jemma chuckled softly. "Well, I say we feed you to start. Maybe we can come up with something once you have a full stomach."

They went down to the kitchen and were able to grab Fitz a couple of hard-boiled eggs, and a bowl of porridge with apples and cinnamon. He'd just tucked into his meal when Bobbi came into the room. "You ready, Jemma?" she asked.

"Ready for what?" Fitz asked around a mouthful of food.

"Practice," the blonde said, passing him a book.

Fitz took it and flipped through the pages, a smile growing on his face. It was Victoria Hand's journal, it felt like forever ago when he'd found it and shown it to Jemma. "You're really going to give it a try?"

"Yeah, we thought it might be time," Jemma smiled, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Great," he grinned at her. "Where are you going to do it?"

"The surgery," Bobbi answered. "We figured if we were overheard at all, we could just say it was a patient going through amputation or something."

"Let me know how it goes," Fitz stood and took his bowl to the washbasin. "I've got to head out and get those posters up around the village."

"Hunter's at the stables waiting to help," Bobbi said.

"Great," he smiled at her and turned to Jemma. "Good luck."

"You too," she smiled as he bent and gave her a quick kiss goodbye.

*

As it turned out, projecting her voice at will was far easier said than done. They followed Victoria Hand's instructions; start close and with something small. So they moved the surgery table to one side of to room and set vases on top it for her to knockdown. But Jemma didn't manage to fell a single one. She did, however, manage to shake just about every one of her specimen and remedy jars off the walls. 

"It's not that you can't do it," Bobbi had reassured before she retired to her room with a headache. "We just need to figure out how we can aim it, make it more like an arrow and less like a…"

"Bomb?" Jemma supplied.

"Yeah," the blonde frowned sympathetically. "But we'll try again, right?"

"Of course," she agreed with a tight smile and sent the other woman on her way to rest.

Jemma wasn't sure if she wanted to try again though, she thought as she got about putting her supplies away. She didn't think that using her powers more actively, combatively, would drain her so much. The jar of dried lavender that she picked up off the ground felt like it weighed fifty pounds, and as she stretched to put it up on the shelf, she felt every muscle in her body scream in protest.

The door to the surgery opened and Jemma turned, slowly, as Donnie poked his head in. "I head you had an unruly patient today. But looking at this mess, it seems unruly might have been a bit of an understatement."

"Oh, it wasn't so bad," she gave him a tired smile. "Nothing Bobbi and I couldn't handle in the end."

"Can I help you clean up?"

Jemma smiled at him as her heart clenched in her chest. He was such a kind soul, how could he be that monster, it wasn't fair. "Of course, I'd appreciate that."

She watched as he bent down to pick a few of the fallen jars. "So I know Fitz is in the village all day, what have you been doing with yourself?"

"I practised making more horseshoes after breakfast," he began as he carefully placed the items on the shelf in alphabetical order, their labels facing out. "But I think I'm going to do some more reading this afternoon, at least until dinner."

"You're just determined to make your way through the library in record time aren't you?" she grinned at him and passed him a container of oleander leaves.

"Yeah I gue-ugh," the jar crashed to the ground as Donnie doubled over clutching at his stomach.

"Donnie," Jemma rushed to his side and placed a hand on his back. "Hey, what's wrong?"

He only let out another groan of pain in response as his legs gave out from under him. "It's alright," Jemma soothed as she eased him down to the ground as best she could. "I'm going to examine you, alright? Just try to stay calm. If you can tell me what's wrong, tell me where you're hurting." 

She felt his forehead and cheeks, his already pale skin had gone chalk white and was blazing hot to the touch. His eyes were clenched shut against the pain as Jemma brushed a sweaty piece of hair off his forehead. "Need to take a look at your eyes," she said, pulling the lids down as gently as she could. Before she could get a good look at them, Donnie's arm snapped out and pushed her off of him. He sprang to his feet, chest heaving, as he staggered around the room. 

"Donnie?" 

He turned towards her voice and finally opened his eyes, but it wasn't Donnie's eyes looking back at her. There was no pupil or iris that she could make out, just an expanse of blindingly blue light. He made no move towards her, just stared, breathing hard as smoke started licking up around him. Jemma could only watch as the boy she knew disappeared into the thick blackness. A piercing roar rang out from the smoke as it started to break, and the Beast emerged from where Donnie stood just moments before. Jemma scrambled back against the wall, as Donnie, the Beast, stalked towards her, it's jaws gnashing at the air. She closed her eyes tight, blocking out the view of the monster before her, and, taking a deep breath, Jemma did the only thing she could think of. She screamed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoa, who remembers this story?!? Sorry for the delay in posting this I got sidetracked writing and posting a holiday fic. But the holidays being over I am back and focused on this one again. Enjoy!

It was like Jemma could see the sound waves DaVinci once described as the force of her scream knocked into the monster, knocking it off its feet. She sat there, rooted to the floor, completely stunned; nothing like terror to give one's powers a jolt in the right direction she supposed. As the Beast righted himself, Jemma inhaled, ready to let loose another scream, when the door swung open with a bang as Fitz and Bobbi rushed into the room. But the Beast barely spared them a glance as he continued to advance on Jemma. 

"Donnie!" Fitz howled. "Stop!"

This seemed to give the hulking werewolf pause, and Jemma thought she saw a flicker of recognition cross the Beasts face. It didn't last long as a shudder ran through its body like it had to physically shake the mind within back into submission. It must have only taken a second, but that was long enough for Hunter to come rushing in. His body engulfed in flames he lunged at the Beast pushing him into the corner and further away from Jemma. Fitz hurried over to her, brushing her hair out of her face he held her head in his hands as he scanned her for visible injuries. "Are you alright?" he asked, peppering her face with kisses.

"Yes," she assured and gripped his wrists. "You have to help Hunter."

Fitz looked over to where their friend was fighting with the Beast. "Actually I think Hunter might have this," Fitz said in surprise. Hunter had his hands locked around the Beast's arms, both struggling against one another as they moved about the surgery, crashing into things and knocking items off the walls and shelves. He helped Jemma to her feet they snuck quickly past the fighting creatures, and out the door where Bobbi was waiting.

"How's Hunter?" the blonde asked.

"Holding his own," Fitz replied just as a loud crash came from the room. "At least he was."

They turned as the Beast burst through the doorway and ran to the woods, Hunter hot on his heels. 

"We should follow them," Jemma said as the glow of Hunter's flames disappeared into the trees.

"We will," Bobbi assured, directing her to sit down on a bench. "But are you alright? Did the Beast hurt you?"

"No, no, he didn't get close to me," Jemma said. 

"He got close enough," Fitz frowned. "Maybe you should take a minute. Go and rest."

"I don't need rest," she insisted. "I need to go with you, we need to help Hunter."

"Bobbi go inside. Tell Daisy to go to the village and take over for Mack on patrol, she's to tell him to meet us in the forest. He should be able to pick up on Hunter's scent at the very least."

"Great," Jemma stood up from the bench and headed back to her surgery.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Fitz stood in front of her. "Where do you think you're going?"

"With you," she answered, turning back room just exited. "Just let me get supplies from the surgery."

"No," he countered. "Jemma you aren't coming, it's too dangerous. You need to stay here, you need to rest."

"I told you, Fitz, I'm fine," she protested.

"Not according to Bobbi."

"Bobbi isn't in my head," Jemma glared. "She does not know how I'm feeling, not now."

"It's not a good idea," Fitz crossed his arms over his chest. "I know you got the scream to work Jemma, and I'm proud, thrilled even, that it worked when it did. But that doesn't mean you have control over it yet, you shouldn't be out in the field. Not until we have a better idea of how it will affect you. Not until we're sure you have control."

"We don't know that I don't," she argued. "I'm a fast learner."

"And I'd rather not test that out in another life or death situation!"

"And one of the very first things you said to me when I came here was that I was free to do what I wanted, and I want to come, I want to help. I told you then I wanted to be useful. How am I of any use if I'm stuck here?"

Fitz opened his mouth to counter her argument, but he couldn't. He hung his head and sighed in defeat, closing his eyes tight against the pounding in his head. This was one of the moments where he hated that he loved having a strong-willed wife.

"I will hang back," Jemma stepped forward, gently placing her hands on his crossed arms. "But if Hunter is hurt, or Donnie or Heaven forbid, some poor soul in the wrong place in the wrong time, I need to be there to help them. On the scene, a fast response increases the likelihood of survival. Please, I don't want another Connor on our hands."

She looked up at his face, his eyes were closed tight, his jaw muscles twitching, until finally, finally, he nodded. She leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his cheek, resting her forehead there, breathing him in. "I love you."

"Love you, too," he nodded.

They fell into silence, just holding each other until Bobbi came back outside. "Daisy's headed out, she's not exactly happy about being left out of this one thought."

"She can manage," Fitz cleared his throat and moved out of Jemma's arms. "Let's head out."

It wasn't hard to pick up the trail, they only had to follow the scent of burning. They found Hunter in a clearing, slumped against a tree, deep slashes all over his head and neck. Jemma rushed to him and checked his pulse, I've groaned in pain at her touch. "He'll live," she declared. "But I think this may take a while to heal."

"You and Bobbi take him back to the manor," Fitz looked anywhere but at Hunter. 

"What about you?" Jemma asked as Bobbi hailed Hunter up as carefully as she could. "You shouldn't be out here alone.

"Daisy will be to the village any minute," he assured. "It won't take long for Mack to get here after that. I won't be alone for long."

"I don't like it," she crossed her arms. 

"This is why you wanted to come," Fitz argued. "Go back to the manor and make Hunter comfortable, see if there's anything you can do to quicken the healing."

"Fine," she glowered. "Don't go far until Mack gets here."

"Seconded," Hunter croaked weakly.

"Agreed," Bobbi nodded. "Don't take this on yourself, Fitz."

"I'll wait for Mack," he promised. "Now go."

Jemma helped Bobbi heave Hunter onto her shoulders, and the blonde ran back to the manor. Jemma ran too, much slower, but motivated to get out of the forest as quickly as possible. She got Hunter situated in his room and cleaned and bandaged his wounds. It was slow, but he was healing, she'd given him a mixture of lavender and poppy juice to help him sleep. Once she was sure he was resting comfortably she was tempted to go back to the woods. "Fitz said to stay here," Bobbi said, seeming to read her mind without even looking up from her book. "I will sit on you if I have too."

Knowing that her blonde friend would make good on her word Jemma returned to her room with strict order for Bobbi to come and get her if Hunter seemed to get worse. She sat in their study writing at her desk. After her arrival at the manor she started on a journal about treating supernatural creatures, the heavy focus was obviously in treating werewolves. Still, she hoped one day she could flush it out more. She didn't know how much time passed until she heard heavy footsteps up the stairs, Fitz and Mack were back. She raced to the door and rushed into the hall to greet them.

"How's Hunter?" Mack asked before she could greet them.

"Healing," she said. "Slowly, but I think he'll be fine by morning. Did you find anything?"

Fitz shook his head and trudged into their bedroom without a word. "He's blaming himself for this," Mack placed a warm hand on her shoulder. "Keep an eye on him?"

"You know I will," she nodded. Mack wished her good night and went off to his own room to sleep. She took a breath and walked back into her own bedroom and saw Fitz sitting on the bed, his head in his hands. She sat beside him and wrapped her arm around his, resting her chin on his shoulder. "This wasn't your fault, Fitz."

"I should have thrown him in a cell the second he arrived here," his voice was muffled by his hands.

"On what cause?" she asked. "What crime did Donnie commit?"

Fitz sat up straight and sighed. "Mass murder apparently."

"We didn't know that at the time," she soothed. "We had no way of knowing."

"I should have," he shrugged off her arm and bent to remove his boots.

"Since when can werewolves read minds?"

"We can sense emotions," he flopped back against the headboard. "I should have smelled it on him."

"That's not the same thing, and you know it," she laid beside him and twisted her fingers in his hair, scratching gently at his scalp.

He nuzzled against her hand and moaned. "I know," he admitted after a few minutes of her attentions. "But that doesn't mean I feel good about it."

"None of us do, Fitz."

"At least one good thing came from today," he breathed.

"And what's that?" 

"You got your powers to work practically," he leaned forward and stroked his nose down hers gently. "Do you really think you can control it? Or were you just saying that so I'd let you come into the woods."

"A little bit of both," Jemma confessed.

"Well," he propped his head up in his hand and twisted a strand of her hair between his fingers. "What was going through your mind when you blew Donnie back?"

"The Beast," she corrected. "I don't know, not wanting to die."

"Well," he let out a huff of laughter. "I very much appreciate that."

"I don't know Fitz," she shook her head. "If fear of death is the only way to get them to work, then I'm not sure it's worth it; as much as I want to be useful."

"You are useful," Fitz pulled her into his arms and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "We've never had a better medic, hard as Piper tried. More importantly, I'm not lonely anymore."

"Lonely? How were you lonely?" she asked. "You had your father, the pack. You were surrounded by people."

"Yeah, but it's different with you," he scratched at his ear. "Their my family, and I love them, I do, but…"

"It's different when you're in love," she finished for him, she felt rather the same.

"Exactly. I honestly never thought I'd have that," Fitz tucked the strand of hair he'd been playing with behind her ear. "It's a nice feeling."

"It is," she tugged him down for a gentle kiss. It quickly deepened as she opened her mouth so their tongues could dance together. Fitz rolled so he was on top of her, and Jemma nipped at his lower lip before catching them once more in a heated kiss. She brought her knees up to lock around his waist. Trailing her hands over his shoulders and down his back, Jemma grabbed at the hem of his shirt. She'd just begun to drag it up his body when someone knocked on their door. 

"Don't answer it," Fitz whispered and moved to press kisses along her neck.

"I have to," she groaned and pushed him off her. "It could be about Hunter."

But it wasn't Bobbi at their door, it was Daisy. "Am I interrupting something?"

"No," she said at the same time as Fitz called out. "Yes."

"Come in," Jemma shot her husband a playful glare and opened the door wider for the other woman to step inside. "What can we do for you, Daisy?"

"Think I've found it," she held up a worn leather book. "But you're not going to like it."

"Found what?" Fitz frowned and moved off the bed.

"How to stop the Beast."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	16. Chapter Sixteen

Daisy handed Fitz the weathered book. "It was my great-great-great grandmother's journal. I marked the page."

Jemma came to his side as Fitz carefully opened the journal to the marked page. As hee read the page, he felt his jaw get tighter and tighter with each word when he finished, he passed the book to Jemma and began to pace the room. 

"Told you, you wouldn't like it," Daisy said as Jemma sat on their mattress, re-reading the entry again.

"' A blade forged with familial blood, Rowan wood and mistletoe during the light of the full moon,'" She read aloud. "Is that even possible?"

"Yes," Fitz fumed. "If it's used during the quenching process, it could imbue the metal with anti-supernatural properties."

"I can keep looking," Daisy offered. "But the full moon is in —"

"Two days," he finished. "So if we're going to do it needs to be now."

"Fitz," Jemma looked at him in shock. He wasn't agreeing to this, was he?

"We have no choice Jemma," he shook his head. "We're out of time."

She swallowed hard and nodded. "I know." 

Fitz rested his forehead against the window. He hated this, he hated whoever did this to Donnie. They were the one who deserved suffer, not him, not the villagers. 

"So what are you going to make?" Daisy asked. "I know it says a blade, but you could forge anything right?"

"Presumably," Fitz sighed and turned back around to face the women. "Why, what were you thinking?"

"If you make me some arrow tips I can make the shot."

Fitz frowned. 

"I don't think that'll be strong enough, Daisy," Jemma said, reading his mind. "It would allow for multiple shots, which is beneficial, but not if they can't penetrate the Beast's hide."

"You're on board with this too?" the raven-haired woman was surprised. 

"He's too big a risk," she admitted sadly.

"Tell the rest of the pack what you've found," Fitz directed. "Have them each think of something, some weapon we can make, we'll discuss it at breakfast."

Daisy nodded, and Fitz held up the journal. "Can I keep this? I want to read it some more, get as much information as we can."

"Of course," she rose from her seat and headed to the door. "I'll see you both in the morning. And I'm sorry, I didn't want it to come to this."

*

Breakfast the next morning was a solemn affair. Usually, the table was full of chatter and life, as the pack all but inhaled their food. Instead, they all just picked at what was on their plates, pushing the food around, no one wanting to be the first one to speak. 

"So, we' all heard the latest development," Phil cleared his throat. "I know none of us like it, it's a worst-case scenario, but it's what we've been given. So, who would like to start?"

"What if we used a musket," Bobbi offered. "Fitz could easily press some forge some musket balls."

"I don't know Bob," he wrinkled his nose. "Rifles are too inconsistent, they jam, they misfire. And they take too long to load if we miss, the Beast could charge before we got the next shot off."

"And the ball could rip right through him," Daisy offered. "Allowing him to heal on the spot."

"Speaking from experience, Love?" Hunter chimed in. Jemma kicked him under the table.

"Are we seriously considering this?" Mack hissed. "Are we actually talking about killing a child? Fitz, you can't be serious."

"So tell me another solution," he barked. "Tell me how we protect the village against the Beast. Or how we stop it from going elsewhere and continuing its rampage. Believe me, Mack, I am all ears."

"I don't know," he admitted after a moments silence. "But I don't like it."

"And you're saying I do?" Fitz glared. "The Beast could slaughter the entire village given half a chance, and who knows what else beyond that. It needs to be stopped. Permanently."

"Are you sure about that?" the large man asked. 

"We aren't sure about anything," Hunter cut in. "That's the problem innit? We don't know who's in control when Donnie shifts, or what its motives are. But I can't picture a quiet kid like Donnie having a need to kill children. Or strangers he stumbles across in the wood. I mean his father sure, man's a right bastard, but everyone else, there's no way. It's sad that this is what its come to, but it has."

"Still," Mack began. 

"Our duty is to the village," Fitz interrupted. "And to the people. The lives of many outweigh one, especially when that one is causing the damage, even if his actions aren't his own."

Silence fell over them for a moment.

"I say we make a sword," Hunter finally broke it. "I mean her little family death book did say a blade, right? Doesn't it mean has to be a sword?"

"We don't think so," Daisy glared. "We're confident that it's the process that matters, not what we make."

"I don't want it to be a sword or a dagger. We'd have to get too close to use it," Fitz supplied.

"Plus a sword takes a long time to make," Mack added. "At least if we want to do it properly, and be assured it's sturdy enough. Far longer than we have."

Fitz looked at him, and he shrugged sadly in return.

"So we need something strong," Phil listed. "That's accurate enough to be used from a distance, but won't just rip right through him."

"And Fitz has already vetoed arrows," Daisy stated.

"What about a polearm?" Jemma asked after a moment.

"It would allow for distance," Daisy said. 

"But would it penetrate deep enough if we threw it?" Bobbi asked.

"Maybe, but maybe not," Fitz chewed his lip. "But we could stab the Beast with it. That would give us the distance, the penetration —"

"And allow us to use the Beast's weight against it," Jemma finished. "And we could make the handle out of rowan wood too, making it more potent."

"But then who would wield it?" Mack asked. "None of us can touch it if it's made of rowan wood."

"None of the wolves can," Fitz corrected. "And neither can Davis. But Hunter, Piper, Daisy and Dad all can."

"So can I," Jemma pipped up.

"Hate to bring up another problem," Hunter cleared his throat before Fitz could respond. "But what about the blood? I mean that's a symbol or something right? It doesn't mean blood, blood, right?"

"It does," Daisy confirmed.

"And we're gonna get Donnie's blood how?"

"It says familial blood," Fitz clarified. "Doesn't have to be Donnie's just someone related to him."

"That doesn't really clear up the how, mate," he pointed out.

"Edward is easy enough goad into a fight," Fitz shot his father a look. "Though it would be a heck of a lot easier if he were still in the cells."

"We nabbed him as a debtor," Phil sighed. "When Blake came and paid his outstanding fines, I had no choice but to let him go."

"I guess business at the tavern has been down since taking dear old Eddie in," Bobbi rolled eyes.

"It's not like we don't know where to find him," Phil offered. "We just need a plan."

*  
That's how Fitz found himself at the tavern that night, slowly sipping tankard of ale and picking at the meal of chicken, bread and boiled peas on the plate in front of him. Waiting. He was the one who was going to fight Gill, much to Hunter's disappointment. The man was fuming over in the east corner switching between glaring at the plate and the door. Mack was sat in the opposite corner of the pub, also pretending to sip at some ale, though he'd flat out refused a plate. Fitz didn't blame him, he'd been spoiled by Mack's cooking, and while the food was edible, it wasn't exactly enjoyable. 

Daisy and Jemma were outside, tucked in the aisle, as was Bobbi. She was going to come in on the heels of the target, acting as a signal that he was in fact there. They waited for nearly two hours, but finally, Bobbi strolled in, only a few steps after Gill himself. 

Edward had barely sat down at one of the long tables when Blake set a stein filled to the brim in front of him. Fitz watched as he drank it down quickly. The empty cup hadn't even touched the table before Blake was sliding him another. After he finished his third drink Fitz finally rose from his seat and plunked himself across from the man. "Edward," he greeted cheerfully. "How are you doing?"

"What the hell do you want?" the older man sneered, his breath already reeking of drink. "Gonna arrest me again?"

"Nah," Fitz waved a hand jovially. "Actually, I just wanted to tell you how much I admire you."

"Really?"

"Yeah," Fitz shrugged. "I mean, I don't know many men who could do it."

"Do what?" Fitz could hear the suspicion in his voice.

"Go on living," He continued. "Knowing that they are not loved by a single person in this world."

"Excuse me," Edward clenched his fists.

"I mean if it were me, I'd probably hike up Ben Nevis and throw myself off," he laughed. "But you, you just carry on. I mean, do you know that that's the case, right? Or is it that you're just too thick to realize that?"

"How dare you talk me like that you little-"

"I mean, you had a loving wife" Fitz kept on. "But your drunken beatings drove her away. She ran off, what five years ago now? Then there's Donnie, your son and spitting image, who would rather live in the forest, in the dead of winter with a killer on the loose, then the warm roof of your cottage, just to get away from you. How does it fe—" his words cut off when Edward's fist connected with his jaw.

He lifted his head slowly, and looked to Edward, the man was standing, glaring down at him, his shoulders heaving with angry, ragged breaths. "What's wrong, Eddie?" Fitz wiped blood from the corner of his mouth. "Truth hard to handle?"

Edward lunged across the table at him, knocking them both to the ground. They rolled around the tavern floor trading blows, patrons scattering away from the brawling pair. It was all apart of the plan, and Gill had taken the bait like a starving salmon, now Fitz just had to get the fight to spill outside without anyone following them. He slammed his forehead into the elder Gill's nose and felt it crunch beneath his brow as he scrambled to his feet. Bobbi, Mack and Hunter moved forward to coral the gathering crowd. Fitz allowed the man to get him into a headlock as he directed them out the door and onto the cobbled streets. 

Once the door sealed shut behind them, Fitz easily twisted out of the woodcutter's grip and shoved the man away. Edward staggered for a moment, then reared around swinging his fists wildly, Fitz blocked them all. Edward approached again, Fitz stuck his foot out, sending the already unsteady man right into the fountain. He watched as Edward's head rebounded off the stone lip, and he crumpled to the ground, unconscious.

Fitz dragged Edward back into the alley where Jemma and Daisy stood waiting. Immediately Jemma kneeled next to the older man, pulling at his eyelids, and feeling his heartbeat. "I thought the plan was to keep him in a choke until he passed out, did you have to wallop him so hard?"

"I didn't do this to him," Fitz feigned innocence. "The fountain did."

Jemma rolled her eyes and took a small length of rope from Daisy, tying it tight around Edward's upper arm. "What are you doing, exactly?" the other woman asked.

"Tying off above where you make an incision can help bring the veins up," Jemma explained as she watched. "Which is especially useful when all you want is blood." 

She heard Fitz let out a groan as she slid a small blade into the crook of Edward's elbow. Blood oozed out in a thick, steady stream. "Vial Daisy," she ordered and placed the little glass jar under the flow the moment it was placed in her hand. When it was done, Fitz loaded the still unconscious man onto the waiting wagon, and they set off for the manor. Hunter, Bobbi and Mack would follow once things in the tavern settled. They were going to keep Edward in the cells for a few days, as a cover of course, but to keep him safe. He was an odious man to be sure, but not even Edward Gill deserved a run-in with the Beast.

*

"The others just got back from the Tavern, has Edward woken up yet?" Fitz asked Jemma as he came into their room later that night. She was sitting up in bed reading Daisy's ancestor's journal again.

"Yes," she replied, marking her page. "But he fell back asleep again. I have your father checking in on him every few hours, to make sure he keeps waking up."

"What do you mean?" Fitz asked as he got himself ready for bed.

"Sometimes people who get concussed as Edward did, don't wake up at all," she explained as he crawled in bed beside her. "Or they do, then they fall asleep and don't wake up ever again. I just want to make sure that doesn't happen here."

"What are you reading?" he asked, propping his head upon his hand

"I wanted to do some more research on this weapon, see if there might have been anything we missed."

"And?"

"I found something else," she handed him the book and watched as he flipped to the marked page. A great snarling dog was drawn on the page. It was in the woods, standing protectively over a body, flames licking at its tail. "Remind you anything?"

"Hunter?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Historical note: They were semi-aware of concussions in the 17th century (and even earlier), and used the word, but not in the same way we do today. They knew a hard knock to the head could cause dizziness, confusion, pain, etcetera, even without an open wound and would call that being concussed, but it wasn’t associated really with unconsciousness until the middle of the next century.


End file.
